


Another Door Opens

by engineerleopoldfitz (aching_for_distance), Traviosita9124



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, TW: Past Abuse, not quite geniuses, queer Fitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 246,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aching_for_distance/pseuds/engineerleopoldfitz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz is used to being on his own. After cutting his ties in Scotland during Uni and now tied up with his Master's research, he doesn't have time for friends or relationships outside the fleeting ones he finds for himself in London's clubs. </p>
<p>Jemma Simmons is the daughter of society darlings. And yet, she's chosen medicine as her profession, possibly the youngest resident ever at London Bridge Hospital. </p>
<p>A chance encounter brings them into each other's lives, and while they both desperately needed a true friend... Everything is bound to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eyes closed, groggy and disoriented, Fitz lay quietly and catalogued the sounds and smells around him, swearing silently. How the fuck did I end up in hospital? He felt like fresh hell, his head pounding, mouth dry and tasting disgusting. His stomach let out a loud rumble of hunger even as another piece of him rebelled at the mere idea of food. 

All he remembered was taking a shot of something - some guy had bought him a drink, a too sweet and almost thick liqueur - at the club, and going back out on the dance floor. Fitz had enough alcohol in him to make him loose and limber, slender body swaying along with the heavy beat of the music. He’d felt a little dizzy at one point and thought about going to get some water, but after that… Nothing. There was a blank space where memory failed him.

So how had he ended up here? The steady beat of a heart monitor, the faint discomfort of an IV taped to his arm, the smell of sanitizer and bleach were giveaways. Fitz shivered under the thin thermal blanket - the room was cold as hospital rooms inevitably were - and cracked his eyes open with a groan. 

Serious hazel eyes lifted at the patient’s soft groan, glancing over his stirring form before noting the clock: nearly a quarter to four in the morning. She had been placed here by her supervising doctor two hours prior, and told nothing more than to monitor the section’s newest ward. It was certainly not what she had hoped for when starting her residency at London Bridge Hospital, but Jemma supposed that at four am on a Saturday morning, she should merely count herself lucky that the urgent care unit was so quiet. She shut her microbiology text, and after setting it on the bedside table with a soft sigh, rose to stand beside the bed. 

Jemma had been the one to go through and catalog his personal effects after he’d been settled in, so she knew the basics: Leopold Fitz, 23 years old, brought in after collapsing at Heaven, a local club popular with the university set. She let her eyes rake over him once, noting the small shiver that ran through him and checking to be sure his IV was in proper working order before meeting his gaze. 

His eyes, a startlingly clear shade of blue, were glazed over when they met hers, likely a holdover from the ketamine that was working its way out of his system. Jemma sighed again, more heavily now, sympathetic but more than a little frustrated; she’d seen this kind of thing far too often while working in the city center, and couldn’t help but wonder when people would stop accepting drinks from strangers. If they did, perhaps she could have a few quieter Saturday mornings. 

Pushing the thought away so she could focus on the man before her, Jemma set about testing just how badly he’d managed to concuss himself. “Okay,” she murmured, conscious that his head was likely pounding, “let’s start with the basics. Can you tell me your name?”

Fitz was surprised to find a resident sitting nearby, dark-haired, pretty and hazel-eyed - he’d always liked unusually colored eyes - and young. “Th’ hell? Are y’ even old enough t’ be workin’ in here, lass?” he muttered before he answered her question. He still felt thick and fuzzy, like he’d been padded in cotton, and his head was still pounding in rhythm with his heartbeat. “Fitz. 12/29/87. I live a’ 116B Prio- Ow, fuck.” 

His smart-arsed recitation of the usual questions was cut off by a stab of pain in his head when he tipped it to smirk at her. “Wha’ th’ hell happened?”

Jemma arched her brow at him without a second thought, although she did manage to resist the urge to roll her eyes. He certainly wasn't the first person to question whether she should be allowed to treat patients, and at least he had the excuse of a developing hangover to blame for his query.

After all, to the best of her knowledge, Jemma’s supervising doctor had been entirely within his faculties when he'd asked the same thing. 

“Interesting tact, insulting the woman responsible for your treatment. I’ll keep it in mind the next time I collapse on a dance floor and need to be brought to the hospital.” Her words were harsher than good bedside manner allowed, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was late, she was tired, and she wasn’t in the mood to be questioned, certainly not by her patient.

Sighing once more, Jemma pulled her penlight from the breast pocket of her lab coat, fingers brushing below his chin so she could check his pupil dilation. They were slow to dilate, which while not entirely unexpected still worried her. She pulled away, and propping herself up on the guardrail, considered him as she debating telling him what she suspected had happened. 

“Your blood work hasn’t been returned yet,” she elaborated, pushing ahead, “but given your symptoms and what witnesses say, I would venture that you were dosed with some kind of date rape drug. Likely ketamine, if I had to make an educated guess.” 

Fitz’ eyes narrowed. “Ketamine? I didna take anythin’ from any- Shite. One bloody shot - it was out o’ my sigh’ for two seconds between the barman settin’ i’ on th’ counter and tha’ bastard turnin’ t’ hand it t’ me.” The young Scot tipped his head back into the pillows with a harrumph and an irritated expression. “I’d started feelin’ dizzy after tha’. I remember thinkin’ I should ge’ some water and then nothin’. A’ least I passed ou’ there, wi’ witnesses, I guess.” 

He tipped his head, slower and more carefully, to look at her, and his eye caught on the textbook she’d set aside. “Microbiology. Nice bit o’ ligh’ reading for th’ wee hours o’ the morning.” Blue eyes tracked back to her, brows lifted. “So if I’m assumin’ you’re smart as hell an’ qualified t’ be lookin’ after me, wha’ year o’ residency are y’ in?” 

Jemma had to work to school her features as she watched him work out what had happened to him, a seed of sympathy taking root. He certainly wasn’t the first person to be dosed by a stranger in a club; sadly, it sometimes wasn’t avoidable, no matter how careful someone was. It really was fortunate that he had passed out in a crowd, and not where he could have been more easily preyed upon. 

Her eyes cut over as his did, lighting on her text before glancing back to him, her mouth curling up in an involuntary smile. Fitz, as he’d called himself, certainly wasn’t wrong; reviewing her microbiology text in the wee hours of the morning was a rather effective method of putting herself to sleep. Jemma wasn’t sure why, but despite his rather brusque start, she wanted to like him. She supposed his looks, with his sandy curls and bright blue eyes, made it easier despite knowing she wasn’t his type. 

“I don’t know about ‘smart as hell’,” she quoted back to him, glancing downward, “but I am qualified. My first year’ll be up next month, with another year to go.” She had noticed the way he’d glanced at the text, and his conversation certainly wasn’t as vapid as the other club goers she’d seen brought in in her time here. So, despite knowing she should keep a more professional facade, Jemma took a gamble and ventured a question of her own. What could it hurt, on a quiet morning like this one, really? 

“What about you? When you’re not being bought drinks by men in clubs, what do you do?”

“Halfway through residency. Y’ canna be any older than me, which means you’re smar’ as hell. Nothin’ wrong with tha’,” Fitz shot back, his grin bright and genuine even though his eyes were still a bit off from the drug in his system. She seemed remarkably human for someone so bright - most of the people his age at his level in school were either arrogant or socially inept. Fitz suffered from both, although since he’d been going to the club that ineptitude was fading as he gained social skill. 

Fitz made a noise that might have been a snort. “Research. An’ then more research. I’m finishin’ up my masters an’ applyin’ for doctoral programs. Friday nights I go ou’ - usually no’ includin’ a trip t’ th’ hospital - Saturdays I run errands, Sundays I sleep. Rinse an’ repeat.”

“Speakin’ o’ rinsing…” The more he talked the more he was aware of the foul taste in his mouth, and the beginnings of what boded to be a terrible hangover. “I’m no’ sure if I vomited while I was ou’ or side effec’ of th’ drug, but there’s a terrible taste. I dinna suppose I’m allowed t’ have water? I’ll jus’ rinse an’ spit if I have t’, but I wouldna mind havin’ some t’ drink, too.” He’d been in hospital often enough in the past (not for being drugged) that he knew the routine. 

“Sure, one second, let me just see…”

Jemma trailed off as she stepped across the threshold and into the hall. Luckily he’d been placed near one of the provisions rooms on the floor, so it was nothing for her to gather a small pitcher of water and two styrofoam cups, one filled with chipped ice. She took a chance and checked the lower cabinets, and gave a please little gasp when she found what she’d hoped would be there. She tucked her prize into her pocket, and remembering to grab a straw, scurried back into his room. Jemma set her burden down on the serving tray with practiced ease, and seamlessly moved into setting everything up. 

“What research do you do that keeps you so busy?” she asked, pouring some of the water into the glass with the ice chips and inserting the straw. She held it, along with the empty cup, out to him, insisting, “Here, rinse and spit, then drink. And, if you still feel stale,” she gave him a small smile as she reached into her pocket and drew out a tiny bottle of generic mouthwash, “there’s this. Sorry I couldn’t find a proper toothbrush, but as it’s the end of the month, I’m not too surprised. Inventory on non-essential supplies always is a bit dodgy,” she explained, wrinkling her nose by way of apology. 

Fitz tipped his head, watching her go. She was shorter than expected. Between the tall chair and her posture he had been fooled into thinking she was around his height, but she was probably three or four inches shorter. 

His caretaker - shit, he hadn’t even asked her name yet - bustled back in and eventually pushed the tray with the water toward him. The little vial of mouthwash was an unexpected bonus, and Fitz reached for it immediately. “You’re a sain’, lass,” he murmured, twisting the lid off and reaching for the empty cup to wash his mouth out. The generic liquid tasted strongly of mint, even for mouthwash, but it was better than whatever had been there before. A bit of the water run through the same rinse and spit process solved much of that, leaving Fitz feeling a bit closer to human. 

He gave her another grin, “The research is a secret. Canna talk abou’ it t’ strangers, which y’ still are. Y’ know plenty abou’ me already, y’ can a’ least tell me your name, Doc.” Even if she’d only been through his wallet, she’d know the basics. If she’d looked through his NHS record, she’d know more about him. 

Perhaps it was the late hour, or his rather disarming smile, but Jemma found herself arching her brow playfully at his response. “Now, that,” she teased, “is exactly the kind of information I would want to play upon if I were a spy after top secret information.” She managed to let the statement hang for a minute before dissolving into quiet giggles and giving him a serious answer. 

“Simmons. Well, most would call me Dr. Simmons around here,” she clarified with a tilt of her head. “But my friends call me Jemma.”

“Leo Fitz, but no one calls me Leo, jus’ Fitz.” Except his therapist, but Fitz didn’t exactly count her. Even she only used it when she wanted to make a particular point and drive it home in his head. “An’ is tha’ an invitation t’ call y’ Jemma?” he asked, quirking one sandy brow in curiosity. 

Jemma tilted her head, curious as to why he wouldn’t want to be called by his given name. It wasn’t a particularly heinous one, and was actually rather memorable. It could only work in his favor, really. She wondered, briefly, if it had anything to do with what she had seen in his medical history, but pushed it away. It didn’t pertain to his medical care, and she frankly didn’t see a need to worry about it at the moment. If he ever wanted to tell her, he would in his own time. 

Jemma nodded slowly, unsure of whether or not this was prudent. It seemed a bit too familiar, not only for someone she’d just met, but for a patient at that. She pushed the thought to the side quickly though; it wasn’t as if anything untoward would happen between the two of them. “It is, if you’d like,” she confirmed. “Not many people can keep me this entertained at nearly five in the morning. I figure you’d be worth keeping around.” 

“Is 5am? Chris’,” Fitz groaned. He couldn’t see a clock from where he was laying in the bed, and it hadn’t really occurred to him before she’d just said it. “Any idea when your boss is going t’ le’ me out o’ here, or am I concussed enough I have t’ stay under observation?” It wasn’t the first time Fitz had taken a knock on the head - it was how he knew the questions she’d ask him earlier. And the fuzzy feeling around his head wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. 

That fuzzy feeling was also partly a hangover, which reminded Fitz that he really should be drinking the water she’d been kind enough to get for him. Lifting the cup, he sipped slowly, making sure his stomach wasn’t going to be too upset with him for it. “I mean, is no’ tha’ I dinna like your company, bu’ my own bed happens t’ be a lo’ more comfortable than this one.” 

“I’m sure it is,” she agreed, stalling as she processed what he had said. Fitz seemed a little too familiar with the hospitalization procedure, from his rattling off of questions to knowing she’d likely want to keep him for observation. It disquieted her a bit, but she let it go. Having seen his chart, she knew he was good about maintaining annual doctor’s visits; unless something serious presented itself in the meantime, she had no real reason to push. 

“The truth is, Fitz, I’m going to recommend you stay at least 24 hours for observation.” Jemma saw his face go dark and hurried to explain her reasoning. “The likely concussion is concerning, but not my main worry. I’d like you to stay so we can be sure the ketamine, or whatever we officially declare you were dosed with, has left your system. I know it might seem silly, but I’d rather play it safe.” 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting her to keep him, but Fitz still hated hearing it. 24 hours meant he was going to lose his weekend stuck here, skewing the routine he’d mentioned earlier. “Alrigh’, you’re the doctor, you know best,” he conceded with a sigh. There was no point in hiding that he didn’t want to stay, Fitz wasn’t exactly good at hiding what he was feeling on a good day, much less when his brain was still a bit scrambled from drugs. 

“Y’ going t’ have me moved upstairs or am I stuck down here in A&E for the duration?” Jemma would probably be going off shift soon anyway, so either way he’d be stuck with someone new. He felt a ping of anxiety at the thought, hating the idea of being stuck here, unable to sleep because of the concussion, with no one to talk to and distract him from being in hospital. He had enough shitty memories without adding yet another to it. 

His breathing picked up, and Fitz had to close his eyes and suck in a deep lungful of air to forcibly calm himself before that got out of control. 

Jemma glanced around the room he’d been put in, hazel eyes taking in the stark white walls and floor and fluorescent lighting. It was rather bleak, even as far as hospital rooms were concerned, and she certainly would have revolted at the idea of having to spend 24 hours here. She bit her lip, considering the young man before her. He was clearly displeased by the prospect of a further stay in the hospital, and while she couldn’t do anything about that, she could at least attempt to make him more comfortable. 

“We have a few empty private rooms upstairs,” she told him with a glance at the clock. “My shift’s over at 7, but I should be able to push the paperwork through and have you moved before then.” Jemma smiled and arched her brow a bit when she saw Fitz’ dubious look. “Well, I can’t very well have you taking up a bed down here if you’re no longer an emergency, can I? You’ll be more comfortable up there, besides.” 

Jemma pushed away from the bed once more and headed for the door before turning back to him. “I’ll go get that paperwork started. Just give me a moment.”

Surprised by the offer, Fitz made a face that she correctly read as disbelief. They usually kept observation cases downstairs rather than going through the admission process, so he suspected she hadn’t quite had all the idealism worn off her by her rotation in A&E yet. 

When Jemma disappeared around the doorframe, he was also surprised by the stab of disappointment that her shift was almost over. He’d known it was likely - the overnight shifts tended to get off not long after sunrise - but he found he liked her. Jemma seemed sweet, certainly intelligent, and capable of carrying on a decent conversation even when he was slower than usual and stuck in a hospital bed. 

Despite his frequent nights at the club, Fitz hadn’t made many friends. Not good ones at least. Meeting someone he liked this much from the start was a sharp reminder of just how lonely he was most of the time. Sure, he’d gotten better about talking to new people and flirting and coping with large crowds since he’d started going to Heaven on Fridays, but it wasn’t like he imagined spending time with real friends would be. 

Sighing, Fitz reached up to tentatively check his head. The entire thing was throbbing, so he wasn’t sure where he’d cracked it. Once he found - and winced at the size of - the knot at the back of his skull, he eased himself onto his side. It took another moment or two to arrange the pillow against his chest where he could hold onto it and still rest his head comfortably while he waited for Jemma to come back and tell him he was stuck here. 

It took some wheedling on her part (and quite a bit more flirting than she would have liked to admit), but eventually the administrator on duty had given in and granted permission to move Fitz to a private room in one of their quieter wards. Jemma completed all of the paperwork as quickly as she could, handing it off to the A&E nurse before Sitwell could change his mind. That settled, she hurried back to Fitz’ room, eager to tell him the news. 

She detoured only once, in the waiting room, where the display of magazines caught her eye. They were old and worn, but she supposed they’d do to entertain someone who needed to stay awake for an indefinite period of time. She wasn’t quite sure what Fitz would like, so she grabbed a selection before proceeding down the hall. 

Jemma froze in the doorway as she caught sight of him and the way he’d arranged himself in the bed, wondering if he hadn’t drifted back to sleep. She held there for a moment, debating whether or not she should wake him when he glanced up at her. She smiled automatically and approached his bed. If she hadn’t been at the end of a shift and so worn out, she would have been bouncing in her enthusiasm. 

“Room 214. The paper work just went in, but I’d suspect they’ll have you up there in time for breakfast.” He had seemed to perk up a bit when she mentioned food, putting her more at ease. If his appetite was returning, it meant he was well on the mend. “I brought you these, as well,” she added, holding up the few magazines she’d pilfered from the waiting room before setting them next to her textbook. “I figured they could tide you over for at least a bit, and they’re certainly more interesting reading than that bloody thing,” she finished, her comment punctuated by a dark look at her text. 

Fitz’ brows went up when she confirmed she’d actually managed to get him a room. “I dinna know how y’ managed tha’, lass, but thank you. Is got t’ be quieter than all the beepin’ an’ talkin’ an’ commotion down here.” Really, the noise level in the ER ebbed and flowed as much as the patients in care did, but it was unpredictable enough that it made Fitz twitchy. And the impersonal nature of it was even worse. Jemma’s company had made this last hour or two bearable, however long it had been since he’d woken. 

At her comment about the magazines, Fitz shrugged. “I dinna know, I migh’ actually prefer your textbook. I can probably read through those in an hour,” he said, referring to the stack in her hand and shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t pressed into the bed. “I speed-read anythin’ tha’ is no’ complicated enough t’ make my brain slow down,” he explained. 

Jemma arched a brow at him, his subtle commentary on his mental prowess not going unnoticed. More than ever now, she wanted to know what it was, exactly, that Fitz studied. It had to be something intense to hold his interest, if she were to take his words at face value. Not to mention, someone who would read a medical textbook for fun certainly was worth her notice. Still, something about his tone made her want to needle him, just a bit. 

“You know, a knock on the head like you received would make most people slow down.” Jemma allowed the corner of her mouth to turn up just the slightest bit in the hope that he realized she was just joking. “But if you really want, I’ll leave that here for you, too. My bag could certainly do with the lightening, and I won’t shed a tear over parting with it for the time being.” 

"Who has time t' slow down?" Fitz' grin quirked again, amused at her reaction. "I've got too much t' do to waste it, even with a concussion. Besides, it'll do me good t' look a' somethin' besides my own research for a while." It really was odd, he mused. Fitz so rarely clicked with anyone, much less women, and yet... He found himself wishing they were really friends and not just thrown together for now and likely to never see each other again. 

His head gave an uncomfortable stab of pain when he shifted, fading his smile, but he held out a hand anyway. "Hand i' over, lass."

Jemma shook her head a bit, bemused by both his reaction and request, but did as he asked, trading the magazines for her text and setting it gingerly on the bed next to him. She glanced at the clock and was a bit ashamed to find herself wishing she didn’t have other duties to attend to before the end of her shift. She’d never been one to shirk off anything, but something about Leo Fitz made her want to stay and chat. She knew better than to get attached to patients, but something about him made her think that in another time and place, under different circumstances, they would have been very good friends. She brushed the thought aside, knowing it was silly and gave him another small smile. 

“There you go. And if you hold me in any kind of regard, you’ll consider burning the thing instead of returning it,” she jokingly pleaded as she shifted toward the door. Her reluctance to leave was clear on her face and in the slow shuffling of her feet. She paused in the doorway and promised, “I have other patients I need to check in on before my shift’s up, but I’ll try to stop by before they move you. Maybe you’ll be done with the book by then.” With that, and a small wink, Jemma forced herself out the door. 

~*~

By the time Jemma had managed to dig herself out of the mountain of paperwork a sudden influx of new cases had landed her under, it was nearly two hours past the end of her shift, and between the morning car accidents, dog bites, and a near-drowning, it took her a good minute to remember her own name. Still, despite the long night, the adrenaline rush brought on by the end of her shift made sleep a distant thought. 

Instead, she stopped by the lab in the hopes that Fitz’ blood panel had come back, and seeing the manila folder with his name in the “complete” bin, she nabbed it and quickly made her way up to room 214. She stuck her head in around the door frame as she gently knocked and called out, “Fitz? I have your blood work. Care to hear the results?”

Fitz was curled on his side again, Jemma’s textbook propped on the pillow in front of him. He glanced up, a welcoming smile on his face that faded as soon as he’d gotten a good look at her. Glancing at the clock, his expression shifted to a scowl, ignoring her question in favor of one of his own. What the hell had happened in the space of three hours that had drained her so badly? “Y’ look like shite, lass. Weren’t y’ supposed t’ have gone home ages ago?” 

Jemma huffed out a breath and arched a brow at him. She knew he meant well, but the way he’d phrased it and his tone chaffed her more than a bit. Still, she approached the bed, his file in hand, and propped her hip against the guardrail as she made a show of reading the chart. 

“I was, but funnily enough, the night administrator hates it when residents walk out in the middle of paperwork. And Mrs. Jones wasn’t kind enough to wait to be bit by a dog until after my shift was over.” She gave him a pointed look and glanced back at the folder. “I was right, by the way. It was ketamine. If I were you, I’d strongly suggest just getting your own drinks in the future, no matter how cute the guy buying them is.” 

Fitz blew out a breath. He’d known it was likely, but knowing his blood sample had confirmed it made it real. “Yeah, I think I got that,” he sighed. “An’ I’m sorry, lass. Wasna tryin’ t’ be rude, but y’ look like th’ las’ couple hours put y’ through the wringer. I dinna know why y’ came back up here instead o’ goin’ home an’ gettin’ some sleep.” 

Inwardly, he kicked himself. Way to go, Fitz. Make the woman think you don’t appreciate her going out of her way for you. “Thank you. For tellin’ me,” Fitz nodded toward his file, “An’ for keepin’ me company earlier, too. I know y’ didna have t’ do any o’ tha’. Bu’ I think maybe is time for you t’ go home, before y’ keel over an’ put yourself in one o’ these beds.” 

Jemma found her eyes focused on the file before her, determinedly reading the same few lines over and over again. She certainly didn’t need to reread the file to process what was written on the page before her, but it was easier than looking at him and letting him see the look of disappointment she was sure was on her face. For a while there that morning, she had thought maybe she’d been making a new friend, a stupid thought, she now realized. She had enough acquaintances and her family; it wasn’t as if she needed new ones. 

“Right,” she said, her voice resuming the brisk, business like tone it usually carried during a shift as she met his eyes. “I just wanted to let you know, and then I was on my way out.” She closed the folder with a soft snap and did her best to give him a small smile as she dropped his file into the appropriate bin near the door. “I’m glad you’re on the mend, Fitz. Feel better. And remember, keep the number of odd men to a minimum,” she encouraged as she disappeared around the door. 

Jemma spent the next week, particularly the shift after she first met him, doing her best not to think about Fitz. It was silly, and she knew it, but she’d enjoyed talking to him, even for a few hours. He’d seemed funny, and something about the way he spoke told her that he was bright enough, even though he still hadn’t told her what his research was about… but she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that. He was just a patient, an incredibly temporary one at that, and she had to go on with her life. Besides, if he had wanted her friendship, he could have asked for her, and he hadn’t. So, she supposed, it was really a simple as that.

But try as she might, she couldn’t seem to shake the thought, and so Jemma found herself berating herself on a blustery Friday morning as she pushed her way out of the hospital, her intention quickly shifting to getting to her flat and out of the cold as quickly as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken Fitz most of the week to shake off the aftereffects of his concussion, the headaches and a bit of nausea lingering through Wednesday. He’d spent Thursday catching up on the work he hadn’t gotten to earlier in the week, so his Friday was mostly clear. Even without the malaise, he was distracted though, upset with himself for his behavior in hospital. His explanation clearly hadn’t made anything better, given the way Jemma had swept out of his room, but she really had looked terrible. Anyone with a heart and a bit of sense in their head would have suggested she get some rest.

Fitz couldn’t make much sense of it - he didn’t usually make friends easily, so why had Jemma Simmons made such an impression? She could irrationally hate him now for inadvertently insulting her. And yet - he still had her microbiology text. At the very least he should give that back to her. He knew all too well that textbooks didn’t come cheap. And so he found himself traveling out of his way early on Friday morning to stop at London Bridge Hospital instead of going directly over to his lab at Imperial College London. 

His messenger bag slung over his shoulder, he leaned against the wall outside the employees’ entrance, hoping Jemma would come out this way. If she’d even worked last night. Fitz was hoping to be able to give her the book back in person - and properly apologize. 

Jemma pulled the strap of her bag over her head, securing it across her body and distributing the weight more evenly before plunging into the world outside. The movement pulled her head in just the right direction, or she might have never spotted him. He was propped against the wall, hands in his pockets and collar turned up against the brisk weather. She felt her eyebrow quirk as she set eyes on him, entirely unsure why he was here. 

Part of her was tempted to rush by and pretend that she hadn’t seen Fitz standing there, but when his bright blue eyes darted upward and caught hers, Jemma found herself smiling reflexively and called out a greeting. “Oh, hello, Fitz. It’s good to see you on your feet. How’re you feeling?”

Fitz saw her at the same time she saw him and pushed away from the wall as Jemma’s smile lit up her face. “Not bad. Took a few days t’ really get back on my fee’, but things seem t’ be alrigh’ now.” 

His fingers knotted around the strap of his bag as he crossed the distance between them, expression a bit shy. “Listen, I wanted t’ apologize for wha’ I said the other nigh’. I’m afraid I’m no’ always the bes’ a’ sayin’ things the righ’ way. I’m also no’ exactly good with hospitals t’ start with. I didna mean t’ insult y’. I’m grateful tha’ y’ spent as much time with me as y’ did.” 

Jemma’s eyes dropped, focusing on Fitz’ shoes as if the scuffed Chuck Taylors were suddenly the most interesting objects in the vicinity. She had been trying to tell herself that she’d been silly for feeling hurt by his words, but his apology just needled those feelings back to life. Blinking a bit and shaking her head, Jemma forced herself to make eye contact and smile. 

“It’s quite all right,” she reassured him, her voice pitched a bit higher than usual as she shifted a bit closer to him, trying to steer their conversation out of the entrance way. “Hospitals can be stressful places, and I know you didn’t mean anything by it. You really didn’t need to come all the way back here to apologize, but I appreciate it.” 

Fitz' grin faltered, taken aback by the dismissive tone in her voice. Maybe he'd been so out of it that he had imagined how easy their conversation had been before he had mucked things up. Still, people he liked so well were rare enough that he gave it one more try. 

She'd stepped off to one side and he followed, voice almost wheedling. "Come on, lass. Le' me buy y' a cuppa or coffee t' make it up t' y'. I've go' questions abou' that bloody microbiology text o' yours, too." He belatedly realized Jemma was coming off shift again, and might not want to do anything but go home and sleep, but bit his tongue. He'd already messed up once by being overly concerned. 

“You actually managed to read through my textbook?” Jemma couldn’t help her shocked tone of voice. She had barely made it through the required reading in that class, and she had been forced to do so. She grinned at Fitz anew, wide and bright this time, reflecting her genuine pleasure at the fact he had read through the text. 

She blushed, realizing how her blurted question sounded, and quickly apologized. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Coffee sounds wonderful. There’s a place just a few blocks from here that the staff uses. It’s quiet, if you want somewhere we could talk.” Jemma suddenly felt more upbeat than she had in days. She’d been so worried she’d misread him that finding out she was wrong was the best news she’d had in a long while. 

Sandy brows lifted and Fitz’ looked a bit disconcerted until her grin registered. “I’ wasna tha’ difficult. Had t’ make use of the glossary quite a bi’, but could have been worse. Try readin’ an advanced aerospace engineerin’ text withou’ snoozin’ through half th’ concepts,” he chuckled, falling into place next to Jemma and letting her lead the way to the place she’d mentioned. 

When they turned the corner and she tugged him toward a little hole-in-the-wall diner, Fitz perked up, eyes trailing over the worn booths and inhaling the scent of bacon. “Alrigh’, so maybe more than jus’ coffee,” he admitted as his stomach rumbled. “If y’ have time t’ eat breakfas’, tha’ is. My treat?” 

“I’m off shift until Sunday,” she confided as she pulled open the door and steered him toward a booth in the back. “I have as much time as I want.” She shifted her bag off her shoulder, and after placing it in the booth, shrugged out of her jacket. Finally comfortable, she slid into the booth and looked up at Fitz, expectant. 

She waited for him to get settled, accepting menus from the waitress as she did so. Jemma placed the laminated paper before him and finally asked what she’d been dying to know. “So, aerospace engineering, hmm? Is it planes or rockets you’ve focused your research on?”

Fitz dropped his things onto the seat on his side of the booth and slid in, glancing over the menu. “Planes, mostly, for now. I’m workin’ on an interdisciplinary project in aeronautics and innovative design. A li’l chemical engineerin’ thrown in as well, bu’ basically I’m tryin’ t’ sort ou’ a sustainable fuel system includin’ new engines. Reduce the total load weigh’ of a plane, the carbon footprin’ per flight an’ reliance on petroleum.” 

He shrugged a shoulder and set the menu aside to look across the table at her. “If i’ works the way I’m hopin’ with smaller planes, I’ll have the double masters, another gran’ an’ automatic entry int’ the PhD program t’ expand it t’ commercial airliners.”

Jemma’s brows rose into her hairline as she let out a slow breath. No wonder he’d kept mum on his project while in the hospital. It might not sound like much to most people, but if he could pull that off, it would change the industry. He’d likely be a multimillionaire by the time he was 30 to go along with all of his degrees. 

“Not too shabby,” Jemma calmly intoned, downplaying exactly just how impressed she was by him. “Although, now you have me concerned with exactly how well you’ve recovered. There’s no way you managed both your work and reading my book while getting the proper amount of sleep.”

“Easy - I didn’. Tha’ bloody headache stuck aroun’ long enough that I wasna able t’ sleep much anyway, so I was sneakin’ catnaps in between readin’ an’ workin’. Was no’ so bad, really. I go’ caught up yesterday once I was feelin’ myself again,” Fitz said easily. He was sort of glad that Jemma hadn’t gushed over his his project. It was ambitious, the kind of thing that would make or break his career depending on the outcome, but that was simply how Fitz worked. He hated working on projects he didn’t think were worth the time and effort. 

Fitz started to say something, but was distracted by the waitress’ return. He waved Jemma on to place her order before requesting his own plateful of breakfast and then focused on her again. “So how has your week gone? Things havena been too crazy in A&E?” 

Her eyes narrowed, displeased with Fitz’ easy admission that he hadn’t slept much that week. Sleep was integral to the healing process, and Jemma had to bite back the urge to scold him for not taking care of himself. He was an adult, after all, and didn’t need her mothering him.

“Oh, it was all right, I suppose,” Jemma replied, adding cream and sugar to her coffee. “Nothing too mad, to be honest. A few toddlers swallowing objects their parents shouldn’t have let near them… an accidental electrocution when a city crew forgot to shut off part of the grid before sending workers in to repair some old wiring… the usual traffic accidents.” Jemma kept her descriptions purposely vague. Her work was often bloody, and more than a little gruesome, and she had quickly found out that sharing too many details of her adventures in A&E could put others off their feed. She didn’t want to do that to Fitz. 

“Could have been worse then,” Fitz said with a nod. “My mum’s a nurse. She works in a ward now, bu’ she was in A&E for a long while. I remember her comin’ home wrecked after bad shifts.” His mum’s profession had been the main reason his father had gotten away with treating Fitz horribly for so long. He couldn’t tell how many times his mum had patched him up after a bad spell. Young Fitz had appreciated it. Older and somewhat wiser Fitz was bitter she’d never spoken up against it. Margaret Fitz had covered for his father every time it was bad enough that he’d needed to see a doctor or go to A&E, explaining away bruises and breaks - and the odd concussion - as a clumsy young boy who loved to play sport. 

Shaking himself out of that train of thought - he was out and away with no intent of going home ever again - he doctored his own cup of coffee with too much sugar and no cream before sitting back to sip at it. “Y’ said you’re off until Sunday nigh’?” 

Jemma nodded her agreement as she watched him add sugar to his coffee, more than slightly amazed at just how solid his numbers had been. If she hadn’t seen the blood panels herself, she’d have been ready to give Fitz a speech about early onset diabetes. Although, Jemma supposed there was something to be said for being young and having a quick metabolism. 

“I’ve certainly had worse weeks, but I’m sure you know how that goes, what with your mum and all.” She watched him over the rim of her mug, and made note of the shadow that passed over his face when she mentioned his mum again. She’d be careful of that in the future, just so she didn’t step on his toes and accidentally lose a friend in the process. “But, yeah, I have tonight and tomorrow off. That hasn’t happened in ages! It sounds terribly boring, I’m sure, but I can’t wait to curl up and just read for a long while.”

Fitz caught her suspicious look at his mug and chuckled. “Dinna worry lass, is only with coffee. Mos’ things I eat are no’ tha sweet.” He was a fan of salty things like crisps and pretzels, really. But coffee… coffee needed sweet to offset the bitter aftertaste. Honestly, he hadn’t even drank the stuff until he’d arrived in London for undergrad and discovered the caffeine would keep him awake all night to study. 

“An’ y’ willna hear me say anythin’ abou’ reading. I probably shouldna admit how many nights I ge’ home an’ do th’ same,” Fitz shrugged. Even after researching all day, the silence of his little flat was welcome after being in a busy library and a shared lab. “Bu’ I was goin’ t’ say - I was plannin’ on goin’ t’ see a movie tomorrow afternoon and wouldna min’ company, if you’re interested.”

Jemma made a pleased little noise around her mouthful of coffee, nodding as she set it on the table. Her smile spread across her face after she swallowed and was able to answer. “That sounds wonderful! I haven’t been out to see a movie in…” she blew out a breath as her eyes rolled upward. “Probably since before I began my residency.”

She felt like a child again, bouncing in her seat at the mere prospect of an afternoon out with a friend. She had been so busy with school and then her residency that taking time to be social hadn’t been very high on her list of priorities, and even the few friendships she had developed and bothered to even somewhat maintain were tainted by a competitive undercurrent. But with Fitz, it didn’t have to be that way. They could be friends without worrying about competing for class rank or the best residency position. It would be rather perfect, Jemma thought, if this just happened to work out.

“What did you want to see?”

Fitz’ attention was derailed by the waitress quietly sliding their plates in front of them, and smiling up at her in thanks before returning to Jemma’s question. His smile widened to a grin at Jemma’s obvious excitement. He’d debated asking, wondering if it would be weird or too much like a date, but she seemed genuinely pleased by the invitation. “There’s a sci-fi movie comin’ ou’, bu’ I could be convinced t’ see somethin’ else if you’re no’ interested in tha’,” he offered. Honestly, he was a little surprised that she didn’t already have plans for an entire Saturday off work - friends, family or something. 

“I usually go early in th’ afternoon when is no’ so crowded an’ grab somethin’ t’ eat after,” Fitz continued, “And then wander a bi’. Never ceases t’ amaze me, th’ things I find in this city.” He’d liked London a lot when he’d visited as a teenager, but he’d fallen in love with it during his first few months of undergrad. Now that he was in a master’s program and set his own schedule for the most part, he’d gotten to explore even more of it. 

“I’m more than happy with sci-fi,” Jemma answered eagerly as she tucked into the omelette she’d ordered, chewing carefully before pressing on. “Food, too. Fair warning, though, I tend to pick apart the science in movies.” She knew it was a terrible vice of hers, but she couldn’t help it. The little errors that most audience members overlooked were so glaring that she simply couldn’t resist picking them over. 

It might have been an odd quirk of hers, but it didn’t diminish her enjoyment of the movie, just those around her. Hopefully, Fitz with his own scientific background, wouldn’t find it quite so off putting, either. 

Fitz burst into laughter at the hesitant look on her face, distracting him from the piece of bacon in his hand. “Me too, lass. I do i’ all th’ time. Drives people nuts. Part o’ why I go when is no’ crowded.” The more time he spent with Jemma, even at this very early juncture, made him more convinced they could be really good friends. She was so bloody bright and clearly not intimidated by his intelligence. He also kind of liked that she was a resident - she’d be busy enough with her own things not to be offended if Fitz was distracted or not around much when he got caught up with his own work. 

He nipped into his bacon, taking the time to savor the crunch and salty flavor with a pleased sigh before trying the biscuits and gravy he’d ordered. “Good food,” Fitz noted, “I love these little places like this. So much better than the franchises or tourist traps. I’m afraid t’ admit I canna cook worth a damn, so I’m ou’ a’ lot.” 

“I know exactly what you mean,” Jemma concurred, her approval of Fitz’ opinion plain in her voice. “So many of the families at the hospital just stop when they find the Starbucks just outside the doors; it’s why the staff treasures this place. It’s never full.” She pushed her hashbrowns about on her plate as she toyed with an idea that had just run across her mind. 

“Fitz,” Jemma began, voice low and hesitant as she twirled her fork between her fingers. “What if instead of going out after the movie, I cooked for us?” She looked up from the random patterns she’d been designing on the plain white china to find his inscrutable blue eyes on her. “If you want a home cooked meal, that is,” Jemma said in a rush, her words tumbling over themselves as she tried to save face. “I’m a decent cook, and it might be a nice change of pace, if you’re sick of eating out all the time.” 

He tipped his head, considering Jemma and her offer, “Y’ sure abou’ tha’, lass?” Fitz motioned toward the plates in front of him - biscuits and gravy, bacon, sausage, a plate of fruit and a double order of hashbrowns. “My metabolism goes through calories like y’ wouldna believe. I eat a ton. I willna turn down a home cooked meal, bu’ y’ should know wha’ you’re gettin’ into,” he said honestly.

Fiddling with his fork and a bit of hashbrowns, Fitz shrugged sheepishly. “Fair warnin’, I guess. Where is your place anyway? I’m up in the Highgate area.” He’d lucked out on his housing and was renting a garden unit from one of his old professors who was happy to trade off some electrical and handywork for cheap rent. 

“I’m sure,” Jemma promised, her self-assured grin bordering on cocky. “I’m not afraid of making a full meal, even one to rival your appetite. Just tell me what type of food you like, and I can handle the rest.”

Her smile slipped, however, when he asked where she lived. Jemma prided herself on working for what she had and getting by on her own talent, but she wasn’t so prideful that she would turn down help when she needed it. Her parents were wealthy enough to provide for her housing, and it showed in her address. Each of her acquaintances had reacted differently to hearing where her flat was, but each of them had reacted well. Hopefully, Fitz would take it in stride and wouldn’t change his mind about trying to be friends with her. 

“I’ve got a studio over in Bayswater,” she answered, stomach twisting into knots as she waited for his reaction. 

Fitz’ sandy brows lifted as he let out a soft whistle. “I’m assumin’ your family has money then. I know y’ canna afford tha’ on your own. No’ on a resident’s salary.” It made him wonder more about her, even as it explained how she’d landed a spot in the relatively cushy London Bridge Hospital. Knowing she came from money gave him a little pause, but Jemma hadn’t shown any sign of the stereotypical spoiled attitude he usually associated with the upper class, so he could shrug it off as a non-issue. 

“Is no’ far from my lab, either,” he laughed. “I’m studyin’ a’ Imperial College in Kensington. Dinna let me get too comfortable or I’ll start popping up on your doorstep beggin’ t’ be fed at odd hours.” The kilometer or two between his lab and her flat was nothing if he cut through the park. 

The image of Fitz, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, showing up on her stoop at all hours and asking for food struck Jemma as a funny one, and she couldn’t help but giggle in response. “Let’s see if you actually like my cooking first, before you decide you want to show up and beg for snacks.” She had decided then and there, however, that she really liked Fitz; it had been a long while since she’d felt this comfortable around anyone. She had certainly never made friends this easily. 

“Honestly, though,” she continued, reaching for her toast, “I think I’d rather have you popping by than my sisters. I somehow get the feeling my life would be much quieter that way.” 

That brought on another chuckle. “Yeah, I dare say I’m pretty quie’. Unless I’m tinkerin’ on somethin’, bu’ I canna imagine I’d be doin’ tha’ if I was visitin’ with y’.” Which… was probably true. If he was being really honest, Fitz found himself tinkering on things without really realizing he was doing it. She might turn around one day and find him disassembling something in her apartment that wasn’t working up to his standards. 

It was only then that Fitz realized he was already assuming they’d be close friends. Which was a rather odd feeling when he thought about it, after being so self-contained since moving to London. Sure, he had acquaintances from school and the club. And the men he’d fucked around with, but none of them were the type for him to invite to the movies or pop up on his doorstep to visit and just hang about. Jemma was something entirely different. He set the thought aside to puzzle over later, before his brain went down a rabbit-hole and neglected their conversation. 

“An’ I wouldna say tha’ about your sisters. I dinna have siblings, but I wouldna take them for granted, lass. Y’ would probably miss them if they werena there a’ all.” Certainly he didn’t miss his parents, but Fitz missed what they should have represented to him. Being pretty well alone in the world wasn’t always a pretty or safe feeling. 

Jemma cocked her head, curious about what she’d just seen pass behind Fitz’ eyes. It seemed a little regretful; not exactly sad, but cautionary, as if he were afraid she was missing out on something and didn’t expect her to listen to him in the least.

Jemma wrinkled her nose a bit as she thought about how to go about explaining her sisters. “It’s not that I don’t love them, or don’t appreciate them… it’s just that, well, Addy would only show up if trouble was hard on her heels. And if Michela turns up, my parents are just behind her, as she’s only 15.” She leaned toward Fitz, intent on emphasizing her point. “I do love my family... but there’s a reason I moved out of my parents’ house. My sisters can be a handful.”

“You’re the oldest, then,” Fitz nodded. Somehow that didn’t surprise him. “An’ I know tha’ feelin’. I moved t’ London for undergrad an’ havena been back t’ Scotland since. Well. Once, t’ get some things from my parents’ house after a couple months a’ school, bu’ no’ since then.” He shrugged a shoulder, bracing a little for the questions he figured would inevitably follow that. Fitz wasn’t even sure why he’d just admitted that to Jemma. 

Things began clicking into place, or at least Jemma thought they might be, if her guesses were on target. People came to London for all kinds of reasons, mostly for a fresh start or to fulfill a dream. She had a feeling Fitz’ family was a large part of why he’d needed to leave Scotland. If felt a bit too intimate, but Jemma couldn’t help it; she reached out and set her hand over his arm to get his attention. 

“Sometimes, I’ve found, family is better when you get to make it.” Jemma thought of her own family. She’d been lucky; aside from the usual spats and instances of teenage rebellion, her family was a fairly solid unit, even if she did often find them equal parts tedious and frivolous. It was a fanciful thought, and entirely premature, but she wondered, briefly if she and Fitz would ever be close enough to consider each other family. 

Despite her better judgment, Jemma found herself hoping that they would. 

Fitz didn’t know why he was surprised that she’d reached out. She was a doctor, it was instinctive to her to want to help, although he was intensely grateful that she’d chosen not to delve into his past. They might eventually get there, but he definitely didn’t want to go into details in the middle of this little diner, where people could overhear. 

He wasn’t sure he necessarily agreed with her comment, but truth was, Fitz hadn’t built a family to replace the one he’d walked away from. If he was asked, he’d admit to being lonely, but going through the rounds of meeting people and getting to know them, hoping he might meet someone he’d want to spend more time with had felt like too much work when he had so much to do for school. It was ironic that he’d met Jemma when he wasn’t even looking for a friend. 

“Maybe,” Fitz said quietly. “I wouldna really know. I havena worried too much abou’ it since I got here.” Not wanting to drag his mood down, or the conversation, he grabbed another bite of food and redirected things at her. “So you’re doin’ a rotation in A&E. Is tha’ the plan, emergency medicine, or are y’ lookin a’ another specialty?”

Sensing the mood shift, Jemma sat back and resumed eating. Whatever had just happened, it was clear to her that he didn’t feel like talking about it, and she certainly wasn’t going to push him for information. She opted to focus on what he’d asked instead. 

“Honestly, I don’t mind A&E. The work is interesting, and you’re always on your toes, but some of what you see…” Jemma trailed off with a small shiver. For each handful of traffic incidents and household accidents, there were the sadder cases, usually involving children. Those patients were always the hardest for Jemma to deal with, and those were the reports she always struggled to write. Even in her few short months in A&E, she’d had to report what had looked like a few instances of abuse, and each one still tugged at her. 

“No,” she answered, voice firmer than it had been. “I don’t want to stay in A&E. It may sound odd, but I always thought forensic pathology would be interesting. Give families answers about their loved ones and whatnot.” Jemma sipped at her coffee again before leveling him with her gaze. “What about you? Planning on being a literal rocket scientist one day?” 

"Yeah. I would think y' could get burned ou' easy, doin' emergency medicine for too long," Fitz agreed. He couldn't do it. Not just because he didn't like working so closely with people, but the blood and guts factor was just too high. When Jemma mentioned her true interest though, Fitz blanched. 

"A bi' gruesome, isn' it?" He looked at her curiously. Jemma seemed like such a nice lass, but digging about in bodies was just.... Fitz knew it was sometimes necessary, but he couldn't imagine willingly doing it as a career. 

“No more than patching up someone whose tibia is sticking out after a motorcycle accident, or stitching up a postoperative patient.” Jemma shrugged at Fitz across the table, feeling a bit defensive as she took in his dubious expression. Refraining from giving him too many details about her work week had clearly been the right decision, if the slightly green tinge to his face was any indication. “The only real difference is whether they’re alive or dead. And I’d have the opportunity to provide closure after a death, give the family or the police some answers, maybe catch a killer.” 

Fitz gave a visible shudder and pulled a face. “Sorry, lass. I couldna do i’. I’ll stick t’ machines an’ th’ occasional chemical. No blood or other mysterious bodily fluids. Or smells.” Solder and hot metal weren’t necessarily pleasant, but at least they didn’t smell like vomit. Or decay. He made a little sound in the back of his throat before shaking his head loose of his active imagination. 

Willing to switch subjects again and very glad she’d left him an opening, Fitz latched onto Jemma’s question. “I dinna know wha’ I’ll do, exactly. I’m no’ sure I could work in a standard research lab on li’l pieces o’ things an’ never see the resolution. Or the usefulness. I’ve been fortunate enough t’ work on big projects like this one, an’ I really like i’. I almost dinna want t’ limi’ myself by sayin’ I’m goin’ t’ focus on jus’ this. I’d like t’ think I can go on with the ‘see a problem, find a solution’ mentality, regardless o’ industry, y’ know?” 

Jemma was beginning to get an idea of how his mind worked, and she was both fascinated and a bit intimidated by what she found. She had always been considered smart, and she was confident in her abilities, but listening to Fitz speak, she had the feeling that he was much better at looking at the big picture than she was. 

Jemma thrived on procedure, going from point A to point Z in the standard order, but Fitz… Perhaps it was the way he moved, always fidgeting slightly with something, that gave the impression that his mind was always working in overtime. She just had a feeling that he’d be able to jump from point A to point H without any of the in between and it wouldn’t adversely affect his work in the least. 

Surprisingly, instead of the envy she might have expected herself to feel, she was intrigued, and found herself wondering what it would be like to watch him work. She made a mental note to ask if he’d let her visit his lab, if they ever became that close. 

“Would you consider opening your own firm then? Contracting yourself out? Or even staying in academia?” 

Fitz’ smile returned, but this was more subtle than the grin he’d given her before, and somehow sweet. “No’ my own firm. I’ve no head for business. Probably end up broke within six months, if I even managed t’ ge’ start-up capital. An’ definitely no’ academia. Too many hoops t’ jump through t’ ge’ money an’ resources. Contractin’ is probably my bes’ option. If I can see a problem, I can find the company who would stand t’ profit mos’ from i’ bein’ fixed an’ pitch th’ idea.” 

He took a moment to take in more of his breakfast before he continued, making a little face when he realized that had been the last bit of bacon. “I’ve though’ about gettin’ a real job, too, bu’ I think th’ only place I could probably go tha’ would give me tha’ sor’ o’ freedom would be Stark Industries. An’ I’m no’ entirely sure if even they’d go for i’.” Despite the international conglomerate’s success in recent years, much of it seemed to be driven by the whims of its capricious owner. Fitz didn’t have much respect for, or patience with, the kind of grandstanding Tony Stark was famous for. 

“You’d be surprised, I think,” Jemma said as she pushed her plate to the side, signaling that she was done with her meal. “Stark Industries deals in most markets, and what they produce is quite innovative. They’d be mad not to at least listen to a pitch from you, or so it seems to me. I mean, someone who could come up with a project as cutting-edge as what you’re working on now could come up with something that would bring them plenty of money.” 

Jemma shrugged as she sat back, watching Fitz to see his reaction. “And if they were foolish enough to tell you to piss off, there’s always their competitors.” 

Turning over Jemma’s words in his head, Fitz could see the sense in them. Perhaps it was worth considering, if the private consulting didn’t pan out. Her final comment sent Fitz into spluttering laughter, although he hurriedly tried to regain his composure, snatching his napkin up to wipe his mouth. “Warn me before y’ go off an’ do somethin’ like tha’ would y’?” he said, still half-laughing. “Chris’, lass. ‘Piss off’ sounds so wrong in tha’ prim an’ proper English accen’.” 

Jemma grinned, wrinkling her nose a bit at Fitz as she did so. She certainly hadn’t expected quite that large a reaction from him, but she’d take it all the same. “Remind me to have you around the next time a patient does something boneheaded,” she teased, brow arched. “‘Piss off’ will sound absolutely lady like then.”

It was true; despite her mother’s best efforts and all the money that could be thrown at her education, Jemma Simmons had quite the mouth on her. Although, she was proud to note, she’d gotten much better since starting medical school, taking care to remind herself that the language she’d picked up from the kitchen staff at her parents’ home wasn’t exactly appropriate in the sick room. 

He couldn’t help snickering when she said it again, knowing by the arch of her brows and the little smirk that she’d damn well done it deliberately this time. “Oh, I’ll be lookin’ forward t’ catchin’ tha’ at some poin’ if I can,” Fitz admitted. “You’ll have t’ forgive me if I’m doubled over laughin’ though. I’ just doesna sound righ’.” He definitely understood the sentiment though. Fitz had been known to have tantrums in his lab, although his everyday swearing tended to be fairly limited. As far as what came out his mouth, at least. What happened in his head was another story.


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks later, Fitz had Jemma’s address pulled up on the map on his phone, and was winding his way through the narrow streets of Bayswater. He’d gotten off the Underground at the actual Bayswater stop, only belatedly realizing she lived closer to Lancaster Gate. Ah well. He’d know for next time. 28 Upbrook Mews.

He glanced around himself, confused, when the map told him to turn where there appeared to be a row of shops, only to find there was a very narrow entrance way into what was quite different from the surrounding upscale neighborhood. The address she’d given him turned out to be a rather quaint little rowhouse in a back alley, painted a rather unexpected shade of teal and lined with flowerpots, Fitz grinned. He should have known the woman he was getting to know wouldn’t have entirely caved to her parents’ insistence to give her a noteworthy address. This might be Bayswater W2, but this was definitely more suited to her quirky style. 

There were two buzzers beside the door, the top one neatly labeled ‘Simmons.’ Fitz tapped it and waited, hands in his pockets. 

Jemma started a bit when the buzzer rang out, so absorbed in clearing out the few bits of stray brick-a-brack she had that that she’d failed to notice the time. Sure enough, it was 7 pm already, and Fitz, ever punctual was at her door. The corners of her mouth stretched upward as she pressed the answer key on the intercom. 

“Come on up, Fitz! I’ll unlock the door.”

That handled, she skittered over the painted floorboards to unlock her door, and went back to cleaning. Her flat was tiny, and Jemma was fastidious when it came to keeping it neat, but she was still nervous. Her eyes glanced over the pale grey walls, doing one last cursory check to see if it was up to par, and finding nothing out of place, let loose the breath she’d been holding. 

Her attention was drawn back to her door by the creak of the hinges, and she rushed over to swing the door open for the curly-haired engineer who was quickly becoming her closest friend. “Hi, come on in,” Jemma greeted Fitz, before closing the door softly behind him. “I just need a few more minutes to get ready, and then we can go. Sound good?”

“Yeah, o’ course. Take your time. Is no rush,” Fitz said easily, the fingers of both hands wrapped around the strap of his messenger bag. Jemma shuffled off through a doorway and he glanced around the space. Clearly it was a studio - Jemma’s neatly made bed was along one wall, an overstuffed couch near the windows, her desk and a bookshelf tucked into a corner. The old floorboards had been sanded smooth and painted a deep blue, then shellacked to a high shine. Between the cool color scheme and the decor - feminine and yet simple and straightforward and comfortable - there was an interesting appeal to her little flat. Given the colorful state of the exterior, he wasn’t too surprised. 

He wandered a bit, investigating the bookshelf and what she’d chosen to put on it, grinning when he scanned the titles. They’d talked often enough since that first breakfast that he knew they enjoyed many of the same authors, but he found a few surprises. “Jemma. Do I really ge’ t’ tease y’ for havin’ romance novels on your bookshelf?” he called out, lifting his voice to carry over whatever she was doing in the kitchen or bathroom. There weren’t many, but they were there. 

Jemma leaned toward her vanity mirror, putting the finishing touches on her make up. It was silly, she supposed, worrying what she looked like when all they planned to do was wander a bit, but old habits died hard. Her mother had always been after her to look her best when she went out, and while she didn’t adhere to the strict routine her mother had insisted upon, she still felt odd leaving the flat without at least a hint of mascara and lipstick. 

She stuck her head out of the door when she heard Fitz call her name, his mirth evident in his tone. “You have your vices, Leo Fitz, and I have mine.” Jemma came up behind him so she could see which titles he was viewing. “But don’t worry, I’ll remember this when I come to yours and find something embarrassing lying about. This one’s a good one,” she teased, tugging a cherry red paperback from the shelf and handing it to him so he could see the shirtless, muscular man adorning the cover. “Although the boys in the lab might give you hell for it.” She nudged him a bit with her shoulder before wandering toward the coat rack near the door. 

“What’s it like out there? Am I going to need a jacket, or are we going with a full-on winter coat?”

Fitz’ brows lifted a bit when she stuck her head out and then came out to twit him back. She always made a point of fussing over her appearance a bit, no matter where they went, except on the mornings he caught her for breakfast after one of her shifts. Then, Jemma paid next to no attention other than to make sure her hair was back and out of her face. It wasn’t as if he cared. Fitz knew she knew that, and he also knew that Jemma paid little attention to men in general when they were out, so he could only assume that she did it for herself. 

He bumped her shoulder right back, scowling at the improbably attractive and muscled model on the front of the book when he scoffed. “No’ bad, if tha’s th’ sort o’ guy y’ like, bu’ somehow I dinna think tha’s your type, lass. An’ I’ve go’ plenty else t’ read without resortin’ t’ that.” Fitz stuck the book back into place and gave her last question a bit of thought. “Is gettin’ dark an’ th’ wind has picked up a bi’. I’d bring th’ coat t’ be safe.” It was edging closer to winter and the early November air was getting rather brisk.

She resisted the urge to scoff at Fitz’ assertion that the model on the cover was merely “no’ bad,” as she tugged her black woolen peacoat off its hook. “Maybe I need to start going out with you on Friday nights,” she responded, tone mockingly thoughtful. “I mean, if that’s your definition of mediocre, maybe I need to elevate the quality of eye candy I’m exposed to.”

Jemma paused for a moment, considering before deciding on a kelly green scarf. She draped it around her neck before looking back at Fitz, who she noticed was looking at her strangely. “What? Don’t give me that look. I’m allowed to ogle symmetrical, pretty, well-built men, even if I’m not their type.” Reaching for her pocketbook on the small table that stood near her door, she cocked her head at him and tugged the door open. “Well, c’mon then. Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

“No’ bad, if tha’s the sort o’ guy y’ like,” Fitz repeated. “No’ my type.” He went for taller and leaner guys than that. Swimmer’s builds rather than footballers. Being shorter and naturally so thin - although he’d earned himself some definition of his own since starting to go to the club and seeing the bodies of most of the guys on the dance floor - he tended to get pegged as a twink. Which didn’t precisely bother him if it meant getting laid on a regular basis, but it also meant the guys who tried to pick him up were looking for a personality type they weren’t going to get from Fitz. 

He resettled his messenger bag on his shoulder, seeing that Jemma was almost ready to go, eyes narrowing when she wound the scarf around her neck. “I’m no’ goin’ t’ blame y’ for ogling anyone. Is th’ trash behind the cover o’ tha’ book I’m judgin’ y’ for, lass.” Fitz followed her out and waited for Jemma to lock the door before he continued the conversation, changing the subject as they descended the stairs. “Y’ should wear tha’ green more often. If y’ didna know tha’ already.” 

“Sometimes, a girl needs a little bit of trash,” Jemma retorted, feeling pleased by his compliment as she followed him down the stairs and onto the street. She shrugged as they paused right outside her door. When she’d been younger, she might have been ashamed at being caught with romance novels or anything risqué. However, now she refused to duck her eyes or blush when discussing sex. Med school had knocked any such squeamishness out of her. “Particularly when her actual type seems to be few and far between.”

Turning to her right, Jemma led them out of the alley, toward a street with more foot traffic. “C’mon, let’s see what Hyde Park has to offer, shall we?”

~*~

By the time December hit, Fitz had firmly cemented his place in Jemma’s life. She hadn’t really thought about it, beyond being glad that she had someone she could speak to so easily, until her mother had brought it to her attention. It had been during their weekly check-in call, and she’d been in the middle of telling her mum about the movie they’d gone to on Saturday afternoon when the older woman broke in. 

“So, when do your father and I get to meet this young man? You certainly seem to be spending a lot of time with him.”

The curiosity in her mother’s tone had been evident, and Jemma moved quickly to stomp out any illusions her mother might have been harboring. “We’re just friends, Mum. Believe me when I say, I’m not his type.” 

That had been enough to end the conversation, but since that day Jemma was aware of how often she found herself turning to Fitz to talk about her day. Before long, she began to think of him as her best friend, and so it was no surprise that after a particularly brutal morning in A&E, she found herself wanting his company. Without thinking, Jemma’s feet carried her to London Bridge station, where she caught the Northern line. Huddled into a seat, she pulled her mobile out of her coat pocket and typed in a quick text to him. 

Fitz [07:12]: You’re at Highgate station, right? I’m on my way to you.  
Fitz [07:12]: Please tell me you’re home. 

Fitz had just barely woken up not long before and was still in bed, blankets pulled up to his nose. It was freezing out, the remnants of an early snow still slicking the walks, and he was loathe to get up and make the trek into the city to his lab. Going in late wouldn’t matter to anyone but him, and he could make it up by staying late. Probably for the best. The holiday shopping season was picking up and the Underground was busy until late evening anyway. 

The vibration of his phone drew Fitz’ attention and he thumbed into Jemma’s text in surprise. They weren’t supp- Fitz stilled, reading the simple lines of text, instinctively knowing something was wrong. Jemma had never come up here. It’d always been easier for him to meet her in town and go from there, since her apartment and work, along with his lab and school were all in the city. For her to head this way without even knowing if he was home… 

He tapped the text and keyed in a reply. 

Jemma [07:13]: Everything okay?   
Jemma [07:13]: I’ll meet you at the station. Come out the Priory Gardens side. 

It was only a half hour ride from London Bridge to Highgate. Even though he was close enough to hear the trains go by if they’d been aboveground, he still had to pick his way over with the traces of snow and ice, and if she was already on the train, he didn’t have long. Leaving his pajama pants on, Fitz tugged a jumper on over his t-shirt and cranked the heat up before pulling on his boots and coat and heading out to wait for her. 

Jemma shut her eyes tight and clutched at her bag, willing herself not to cry, not here, not on this carriage with all of these strangers around, and tipped her head back against the seat. She’d be to Fitz soon. She just needed to wait to get to him before she well and truly lost it. She was concentrating on her breathing, willing herself to calm down, when she felt her mobile vibrate. 

Her eyes shot open and she scrambled to reach into her coat and unlock the screen. The knot of tension that had taken the place of her heart relaxed slightly when she read that Fitz was coming to get her. Her fingers trembling, she took her time responding.

Fitz [07:16]: Not okay at all. Be there soon. 

Jemma slipped the device into her bag before resuming her previous position, eyes shut and head tilted back so she wouldn’t have to make even incidental eye contact with anyone. Fortunately, the rest of the commute was quick, and soon Jemma found herself rushing out of the carriage at Highgate. Following the signs, she made for the Priory Gardens exit, moving more quickly than she normally would have. Getting to Fitz was the only thought that kept her moving, and when she saw him standing just inside the station, Jemma practically flung herself at him. 

Her arms circled around his waist, pulling him close as she ducked her head, tucking it in against his shoulder. That shift had been awful, and the feeling of failure had clung to her all the way here. Now, she held tight to Fitz, hoping he could help her chase it away. 

Fitz’ shoulders hunched and hands were shoved in the pockets of his coat as he huddled just inside the entrance to the station as he read Jemma’s text, frowning deeply at the screen. It wasn’t like Jemma to not be okay. Well, more like it wasn’t like her to admit she wasn’t okay. He knew she had rough shifts now and then, but she never went into too much detail. Those were quiet mornings over breakfast, or the days when she didn’t text him until she’d gotten some sleep and was ready to face the world again. 

Jemma [07:24]: I’m here, waiting. Where are you?

There was no answer, and Fitz shuffled anxiously in the cold air. He’d grown to care for her over the past weeks, far more than he’d expected. Enough for him to worry for her now, where anyone else’s upset he’d have shrugged off without a second thought. 

He straightened and stepped forward when he saw her, but Fitz wasn’t expecting Jemma to plaster herself against him like she did. They’d not touched each other much, outside brushes and incidental moments. It took him a moment, hands still tucked in his pockets, to register that Jemma was pretty much clinging to him, and get his arms free to slowly, hesitantly wrap around her. When she burrowed in tighter, Fitz guessed he’d done the right thing. Her shoulders shook, and he awkwardly rubbed Jemma’s back through her heavy coat. “Shhh, Jem. Shh. C’mon. Let’s walk over t’ mine. I’ve go’ the heat on an’ I’ll make y’ a cuppa, okay?” 

It took a moment, but eventually Jemma felt Fitz relax against her, his own arms coming up to wrap around her shaking frame. She wondered, briefly, why she’d never hugged him before. He was slight but solid, and she would have sworn she felt the heat radiating off him through his coat. Fitz was just the right height for her to hide her face against his neck, too, and she did so without hesitation, taking a deep breath. He smelled like warmth and a bit of whatever cologne he’d worn the day before, and Jemma found herself trying to burrow even closer. Fitz' hands were hesitant, but Jemma still found comfort in the action as they skimmed over her back, her soft sobs lessening the longer she stood there pressed against him.

After a few minutes, she felt more in control, and Jemma pulled away, bringing her hands up to her face to wipe away the tears that were still threatening to overflow. Fitz looked more than a little concerned, and she offered him a watery smile. “A cuppa sounds wonderful,” she whispered, her voice shakier than she’d like. She withdrew enough to let him lead her out of the station, but at the last minute grabbed for his hand, and on catching it, latched on. 

It felt terribly needy, more so than Jemma had ever wanted Fitz to see, but after the morning she’d had, she was in desperate need of human contact. 

He'd never been especially sympathetic when people cried, but Fitz' heart twisted at Jemma's tears. Unsure what had brought this on and knowing already she was sensitive to the cold, he was glad when she drew back and agreed to go inside. The twist of her fingers through his was a surprise too, but the look on Jemma's face when he glanced over was enough to make him bite back his questions. 

Leading her a few houses down the street and up a driveway, Fitz skirted around the main house, leading her to his little flat at the back of the property. It was cluttered, but not dirty, bits of gadgets and random parts lying about along with pages of sketches and schematics. The wall of warmth that greeted them was welcome, and Fitz gratefully shut the door, sealing the colder air out as they peeled out of their coats.

Jemma's cheeks and eyes were red, her expression a bit lost. Uncertain what she needed and knowing he was terribly awkward at being affectionate, Fitz hesitated before reaching for her hand again. 

Jemma did her best to smile at him, well aware that her watery amber eyes made the exercise futile. Her suspicion was confirmed by the concern she saw in Fitz’ own gaze, and she glanced downward, focusing on their intertwined fingers, and giving his hand a little squeeze. 

It was odd, Jemma supposed, on some level that she had been so willing to break down on him like that, in a public place. True, A&E had been hellish that morning, but she was used to standing on her own. It had always been that way, with her being the oldest and her parents both preaching the importance of having a stiff upper lip. But Fitz made her feel comfortable, and his friendship allowed her to feel safe enough to let that particular facade crack just the tiniest bit. She swallowed around the lump in her throat, and allowed her eyes to dart around the room before turning her attention back to Fitz. 

“I… I think I’m done crying,” she began, voice softer than usual in the unfamiliar space as she tried to get her bearings. “For now, at least.” She risked looking up at him again, this time stepping a bit closer so her shoulder pressed into him. “It was just a bad shift. I promise, nothing a cup of tea and my best friend can’t fix.” This time she managed to hold both his gaze and her smile, something she was rather proud of, for as little a feat as it might have seemed. “I mean it, I’ll be fine for a few moments.”

“Alrigh’ then,” Fitz murmured, reassured when she looked a bit steadier on her feet. At least it wasn’t something entirely catastrophic, just a rough night. He could handle that.

Giving her fingers a brief squeeze, he moved around his little living room, clearing his work clutter off the couch and coffee table. “Sorry abou’ the mess,” he said, blushing a little. “I wasna expectin’ company, obviously.” It took him a bit longer than it might have, only because he glanced at everything he picked up so he knew where he was putting what and wouldn’t have to search everything when he wanted to look at it again. 

His little place was nothing special. Mismatched old bookshelves lined one wall, stuffed with books. An oversized L-shaped squishy couch was wedged into a corner, and Fitz had the requisite large tv and game consoles tucked across from it. The door to the kitchen was at the opposite end from the front door, and a little hallway off to the left held the doorways to the loo and Fitz’ bedroom. 

Fitz took the pile of stuff into his room and left the stack of drawings and such on the wide drafting desk there, the gadgets going into a heap on his rumpled bed. He closed that door firmly behind him before going into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. He poked his head back out, seeing her still hovering in the middle of the room, “Make yourself a’ home. I’ll be jus’ a minute gettin’ th’ tea.” 

She nodded, but still stood rooted in place as she watched him disappear through a door at the far end of the room. Given Fitz’ mention of tea, Jemma presumed that he’d vanished into the kitchen, and finally forced herself to turn away and look about his flat. 

It was comfortable, and exactly what she would have expected from the engineer. Wandering over to his bookshelves much as he’d done while visiting her, she began to peruse the different titles, smiling when she found their shared authors, and head tilting a bit when she came across something unfamiliar. There were various mechanical bits lying about, some small models of what Jemma assumed were larger projects, and other mismatched nuts, bolts, and washers that she could imagine him fiddling with as he attempted to sort a particularly thorny problem. The thought brought a smile to her face; it was a side of him him she didn’t often get to see, and she enjoyed having a glimpse behind the curtain and into Fitz’ life. 

Eventually her fatigue caught up with her, and Jemma retreated to his sofa, kicking her shoes off so she could tuck herself into the curve. Nestled into the cushions, she tried to will the rest of her nerves to quiet as she waited for Fitz. 

He glanced out at her once or twice while he readied the mugs for their tea. Fitz had proper teacups, but he’d noticed since it got cold that Jemma tended to hold onto her cup during conversation, warming her fingers with the residual heat. The heavy stoneware would be better. Doctoring Jemma’s with cream and sugar, his with no cream and too much sugar, he waited for the tea to brew, carried both out to the couch and handed hers down.

Jemma had taken his favorite spot, cradled in the corner of the wide L with her feet up front of her. Still thrown off by the hug and concerned for her, Fitz sat a little closer than he would have any other time, his arm brushing against hers. Lifting his feet to rest on the heavy wooden coffee table, he tipped back into the deep cushions on the couch to wait for her. He was no good at saying random, sympathetic things, and he didn’t even know what exactly was wrong yet, so he wasn’t going to try. Fitz trusted Jemma would talk when she was ready. 

“Thank you,” Jemma murmured as she took the heavy mug from Fitz, holding it in both hands as she brought it to her lips. It was the perfect temperature, and just as sweet as she liked, warming her from the inside out and beginning to banish the lingering cold from her extremities. The cushions dipped slightly when he sat, and she allowed her body to fall towards his naturally, causing their arms to brush. Remembering how much better she’d felt when she’d been hugging him, Jemma leaned purposefully into him and allowed her head to fall to Fitz’ shoulder.

She sat like that, eyes closed, fingers curved around her mug, just trying to find her equilibrium, for long minutes that seemed to stretch into hours. Eventually, after sorting through all of the sordid details from that morning and organizing them in her own mind, Jemma began to speak. 

“We had several patients come in late last night. Three adults and a child.” She did her best to keep her voice even, emotionless as if she were merely reciting the details of a practice case, but found she couldn’t. Her voice broke when she mentioned the child, and her tears began to threaten again. “The child, a little girl, had been sleeping in the back of the car, when this arse…” She swallowed again, trying her best to make it through the rest of the details. “He’d been drinking. He ran the light, and hit the rear driver’s door. The adults are bad, but nothing worse than some broken bones. The little girl, though… she took a serious blow to the head. We- I,” she clarified, “put her into an induced coma in the hopes of reducing the swelling in her brain, but it doesn’t look good.”

Fitz’ spine went tense when Jemma tipped against him, but same as earlier, the initial feeling of discomfort and unfamiliarity eased after a moment or two and he relaxed. Tipping his head, Fitz could only get a glimpse of her face at an odd angle, but Jemma was still quiet and didn’t seem to want to break the silence so he let her be. 

When she did speak though, Jemma’s words had his heart aching for her. She didn’t tell him much about the more gruesome cases that came through A&E, but some tugged at her heartstrings and Fitz wasn’t oblivious to many of them being the ones involving children. “Oh, Jemma. I’m so sorry,” he sighed unhappily, not really knowing what else to say. No wonder she’d showed up here unexpectedly - he could only imagine what she’d have done if she’d gone home to her empty apartment. 

Fitz switched his mug to his left hand, hesitantly setting the right one palm up on her thigh, silently offering that bit of extra contact. 

That small kindness, Fitz’ palm open in a gentle offering of friendship, did her in. Jemma gave a small, soft sob and pulled her left hand from her mug to take him up on it, threading her fingers through his once more. His palm was artificially warm, as she was sure her own was, having taken on the heat from his own cuppa, and she relished the feeling of it against her skin. 

His hands were like the rest of him, slender but sturdy, and obviously capable. She could feel the calluses that decorated his fingers and palm, Fitz’ reward for long days in his lab. Jemma was certain that if she took up his other hand, they’d bear the same marks. It was an odd thought, given the topic of conversation, but she found that she liked how his hands bore signs of his labor. It just added to the very human, earthy feel of him, which was exactly what she needed. It was what was keeping her grounded. 

“It’s part of the job,” she whispered, running her thumb absentmindedly along the side of his hand. “I knew that when I took on the A&E rotation, but… it still hurts.” She leaned forward to find a coaster and   
set her mug on the coffee table before leaning back into him, her right hand finding its way to Fitz’ forearm, where she clung to him a bit. “I hate the idea of losing a patient. Particularly one so young.” 

“I know, lass. Bu’ y’ did th’ bes’ for her tha’ y’ could. I’m sure o’ tha’,” he murmured. Much to his surprise, Fitz found that he wanted to hug her again. That little sob tore at him, and he hated that Jemma was beating herself up because despite everything she’d done, it likely still hadn’t been good enough. Leaning forward to deposit his own mug on the coffee table, he drew his arm away from her. 

When he settled back into the cushions though, he lifted his arm and settled it lightly around Jemma’s shoulders. Trying to be casual and mask his slight nerves - he felt like he was overstepping - Fitz continued speaking softly. “You’re no’ a god t’ say tha’ all your patients will live, Jemma. I know i’ probably doesna help righ’ this minute, bu’ your best is all y’ can give.” 

Jemma bit back a strangled noise of protest, growing visibly upset when he took his hand away from her. She missed the warmth of Fitz’ palm immediately, as well as the feeling of his sinewy forearm beneath her fingers, and had to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep from reaching for him. Still, it took a mighty effort on her part, and the few milliseconds it took him to set down his mug seemed to take an eternity. 

Fitz’ return and the gentle arm around her shoulders was most welcome, and Jemma found herself burrowing into his side, her fingers fisting into the soft cotton of his shirt. She felt his fingers gently brush over her arm as he spoke, his brogue a comforting rumble beneath her cheek. Despite the truth behind his words, for Jemma the sting of her perceived failure was still a sharp jab in her belly, and she couldn’t stop her tears from falling anew. 

“I- I know you’re right,” she managed to squeak out, “but… she was just so tiny, Fitz. And it’s so unfair.” Jemma wanted to say more, could feel the words poised just at the tip of her tongue about the injustice of it all, when the image of her patient, a frail dark haired girl named Nicole, lying in her hospital bed floated through her mind. The image stole her words, and instead of speaking, she dissolved into sobs against Fitz’ chest. 

He was pleased despite himself at the way Jemma curled into his side. It wasn’t like he had experience with having a best friend, especially a female one. There were times when Jemma was a complete mystery to him, but her personality usually made it easy enough for him to sort through things. Like now, even when he was unsure, Jemma’s response made it so there was a natural reaction once he thought about it. 

Until she broke into sobs, at least. 

“Jemma…” Fitz murmured, his voice sounding pained. “Shh. Dinna cry.” He rubbed up and down her arm, but his best friend only burrowed closer, her face buried against his chest. Sighing, Fitz shifted, turning toward Jemma and wrapping his other arm around her as well. “Y’ did everythin’ y’ could for her, lass.” He said it into her hair, simply holding onto her until Jemma indicated she wanted something else. 

The last time she had felt this safe, Jemma Simmons had still believed that Father Christmas left gifts for good girls and boys and that if she only pulled the covers high enough over her head whatever lurked in the dark wouldn’t harm her. Fitz inspired that same, warm comfortable feeling in her, and so Jemma didn’t hold back, finally allowing all of her fears, frustration, and pain from the previous night wash out of her along with her tears. 

Eventually she began to quiet, her sobs becoming soft gasps and her tears that weren’t caught by Fitz’ shirt drying on her face. She felt entirely drained, wrung out like a sponge, and wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa next to her friend and drift off. In fact, she was set to do just that when she felt Fitz move beneath her, shifting her off of him ever so slightly. Jemma jolted upright in response, her hands renewing their grip on him as she lifted her red-rimmed eyes to his face. 

Fitz looked more than a tad uncomfortable, but a slightly selfish bit of her that was demanding human contact refused to let him go. “Please, can you stay? I just…” she trailed off a bit as she took in the rest of him, her eyes locking onto the mess she’d made of his shirt. “Oh hell,” she swore softly, eyes apologetic when they met his once more. “I’ve made a mess of your shirt. I’m sorry.” Jemma forced her hands to unclench, hesitantly releasing him and pulling back a bit. “Did you want to change?”

He was going to pull her back in, but he glanced down and winced at the condition of his shirt. Jemma had been messily crying and now that she’d pointed it, the soggy state of things was making itself known, clammy against his skin. “Is jus’ a shirt. It’ll be fine, bu’ yeah, I’m gonna go change. I’ll be righ’ back, okay?” His hands were still curled around Jemma’s upper arms, and he waited until she nodded before he drew away. 

Fitz slipped through the door to his bedroom, shutting it behind him and taking a deep breath. Despite his initial discomfort, he found he didn’t mind having Jemma touching him. It was actually sort of nice to hold someone without the intent or expectation for anything more than that, although he did wish that she wasn’t so upset, of course. He quickly changed shirts, tugging on a soft flannel button up, before grabbing one of his pillows and his favorite blanket. Soft and worn, it was also heavy and held warmth well. 

He took both back out to the living room with him. “You’ve been up all nigh’, lass. Y’ should try an’ get some sleep if y’ can,” he said quietly when he sat next to her again, offering the pillow. “I’d offer t’ let y’ take the bed, bu’ is a mess in there righ’ now - the couch will be more comfortable.” He had clothes everywhere in his room, plus his already-messy desk and all the stuff he’d shoved in there when she showed up. 

Jemma’s lips slowly curled upward, touched by the way he was taking care of her. From what little he had told her over the past few months, she knew that Fitz didn’t have many close attachments and could guess that having her show up crying at seven in the morning had not been his idea of an ideal wake up call. And yet, here he was, doing his best to give her what she needed. 

“Thank you,” she whispered gratefully as she took the blanket and pillow from him and settled into the sofa. Fitz was right, she was exhausted and needed to rest; Jemma wasn’t even sure she’d make it back to her flat if she left his right now, that’s how worn down she was feeling. Tossing the pillow into the L bend, Jemma took over one half of the sofa, taking care to tuck the blanket around her feet and pull it up to her chin before looking back up at him. 

“Would you still stay and keep me company? At least for a bit?” 

She was aware that it sounded terribly needy, but he had already seen her break into a rather horrific crying jag that morning. If that hadn’t caused him to turn tail and run from their friendship, she doubted this additional request would, either. 

He’d intended on going into town and to his lab today, but putting it off a few hours wouldn’t hurt anything. Fitz nodded, shifting on the couch to grab his mug and finish off his tea before he sprawled on his stomach across the other leg of the couch, his feet up over the arm on the far end, his head close to Jemma. “I’ll stay pu’ until y’ get t’ sleep, okay?” 

Getting himself comfortable, Fitz crossed his arms and laid his head on them, tipped so he could still see her. Now that Jemma was lying down and warm, her tiredness showed in her half-lidded, red-rimmed eyes, and the corner of Fitz’ lips twitched up a bit. “I think I can probably even stay quiet enough no’ t’ wake y’ up too soon,” he said quietly, testing to see if she smiled even a little. 

Jemma shifted so she could look Fitz in the eye, subconsciously mirroring his position, and grinned at him. She was warm, had a bellyful of tea, and sleep was finally tugging at the far corners of her mind. Still, she was aware enough to realize she hadn’t actually thanked him yet, and pushed up on her elbows so she could speak clearly. 

“Thank you, Fitz. For everything.” She capped it with another soft smile, and acting on one last impulse, leaned over just enough so she could press a quick kiss to his cheek. Satisfied that he knew she was grateful, Jemma curled her arms under the pillow and quickly dropped off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

She awoke sometime later to a still apartment and an unfamiliar sofa. 

It took Jemma a long moment of peering around, but she eventually remembered what had transpired that morning, and how she had run to Fitz’ instead of face her empty apartment. She took a moment to stretch, pointing her toes as she lifted her arms above her head, before slipping out from under the blanket to search for the curly-haired engineer. 

Doing her best to remain unobtrusive, Jemma softly called his name before sticking her head into each room of the flat. Eventually, she found the note Fitz had left her on his table, next to a spare key, explaining that his supervising professor had called him in and instructing her to make herself at home for as long as she needed. He only asked that she lock up behind her before she left. Jemma smiled down at the note, thinking that the neat block lettering was certainly befitting someone who spent so much of their time illustrating blueprints, before glancing around the flat. 

She wanted to do something to thank him for his kindness that morning. Fitz had been there for her after she had just dropped herself into his lap, something Jemma was well aware he didn’t have to do. Moving quickly, she folded up his blanket and neatly stacked the pillow on top before bundling up in her winter gear once more. A quick search on her iPhone revealed the location of the nearest grocer, and after locking up, Jemma quickly set off, intent on finding everything she needed to make him a roast for dinner. 

Fitz was more than a little irritated that of all days, his Professor had decided to drop by the lab for an update on his research. Any other time the man could care less - or at least had the courtesy of emailing Fitz and setting up a good time so Fitz could prepare and be sure to actually be on campus that day. Between the travel time, waiting for the Professor to show up and then answering the inane questions about his latest findings, it had been several hours and now he had another hour before he’d be back up to Highgate and home. Fitz yanked his phone from his back pocket and tapped in a message. It had been long enough, hopefully Jemma was awake.

Jemma [14:43]: How’re you feeling?   
Jemma [14:44]: I’m on my way home, if you’re still there

Signal was always spotty in the Underground, so he waited for them to send before ducking into the South Kensington station and onto a train. He snatched one of the few open seats and leaned back, closing his eyes to block out some of the distraction. This morning had surprised him, not just Jemma’s unexpected visit, but the obvious signs of their deepening friendship. 

Fitz wasn’t exactly complaining, but felt a little nervous about the shift. He was still feeling his way through having a good friend, much less throwing Jemma’s physical affection into the mix. This morning had been alright but Fitz was worried that, given his history, she’d startle him one day and he’d inadvertently lash out. Given his history with his father it wasn’t impossible. In fact, it was rather likely. Fitz was now faced with the option of leveling with Jemma about his parents or asking her to back off. And once he thought about it in those terms… Better to potentially hurt himself by talking about it than hurting her by pushing her away. 

Her phone chirped, letting her know she had an incoming SMS, pulling her attention away from the oven. Moving carefully so as not to burn herself, Jemma closed the door and set down the tea towels she had been using to protect her hands from the hot surface before reaching for the device. She smiled as she read his messages, touched that he was checking up on her, and sent back a quick reply. 

Fitz [14:45]: I’m still here.  
Fitz [14:45]: You have great timing! Everything should be just about ready when you get here. 

Setting it to the side once more, Jemma busied herself in the kitchen. She checked the potatoes and roast once more before turning her attention to the pile of vegetables sitting near the sink. Moving quickly and efficiently, she began peeling and chopping her way through them. If she worked quickly enough, she’d be able to dress the salad and have the table set before Fitz got home. 

Fitz frowned at Jemma's text, confused. He was pleased she had been comfortable enough to stay, but what did she mean about things being ready? 

Jemma [14:47]: what are you talking about?  
Jemma [14:48]: I expected you'd sleep all day

He sent the messages off and didn't look at his phone again until he was on the next platform, transferring to the Northern line for the second half of his ride home. 

Amused by his obvious confusion, Jemma debated ignoring his messages in favor of him being surprised when he finally did arrive home. She ruled it out, however, when she realized how that might make him nervous, hearing from her and then hearing nothing. 

Fitz [14:51]: It’s a surprise. I think you’ll like it. I hope you will.   
Fitz [14:52]: And I rarely sleep all day, even after a shift. 

With that, Jemma glanced around the kitchen, checking to see that everything was in order. The salad was dressed, the au gratin potatoes were done and waiting to be warmed at the last minute, the roast was doing well in the oven, and she’d even managed to set the table. Pleased with herself, Jemma began to hum as she washed the dishes and waited for Fitz to arrive. 

Fitz read the messages a few times, still puzzled and trying to figure out what she was up to. He didn’t think it was necessarily anything bad, so he put it out of mind for the rest of the ride and the short walk home. Fumbling his keys in the cold, he stepped into his flat and found his nose full of the scent of food and instantly understood what she’d meant. 

He’d never expected that she’d make herself that much at home, wincing at the memory of the state his kitchen had been in when he’d left that morning. Fitz knew Jemma, and knew she’d never have been able to work in there with that mess, which meant she’d cleaned some, too. “Jemma?” Fitz called out, half-muffled as he unwound his scarf from around his neck and tugged his coat off to hang on a peg. “What have y’ gotten up t’ while I was gone? I know I didna have anythin’ in here decent for y’ t’ be cookin’.” 

Jemma started a bit when she heard Fitz’ tone, her eager joy at having cooked him a proper meal ebbing away as she registered the fact that he sounded upset. Still, she poked her head out of the kitchen and did her best to give him a smile. 

“I managed to find the market once I woke up. I just remembered you saying you rarely get to eat in, and wanted to say thank you for this morning.” She flashed him a hopeful half-smile. “You didn’t have to come get me, but you did, and I wanted you to know I appreciate it.” 

Fitz’ brows furrowed as he crossed the living room to the kitchen. “Y’ didna have t’ do all tha’, lass. I’ wasna tha’ big a deal. Maybe if i’ had been 3am or i’ was on a day I had a deadline for school, bu’ today was no’ a big deal.” He paused, trying to read the expression on her face and shrugged one shoulder. “I’d hope you’d do the same for me, if I was upset. No’ tha’ I expect t’ be cryin’ and snottin’ on your shirt anytime soon,” he tried teasing her a bit. “Bu’ still.” 

He glanced over his now-gleaming countertops and the small dining table and sighed. “I’m sorry y’ had t’ clean up after me before y’ cooked though. I’m no’ as finicky abou’ home as I am abou’ the lab, clearly.” A faint wash of pink tinted his cheeks from his embarrassment, even as he bumped her elbow with his. “Thank y’ for cookin’, though. I havena eaten a thing all day. An’ y’ know how tha’ usually goes.” 

Jemma kept her head slightly ducked as he spoke, suddenly uncertain that she had done the right thing in making him a meal. It had seemed like such a good idea, but given the way he was now speaking, she wasn’t so sure. But then, as she was trying to find a graceful way to grab her coat and flee in the hopes that Fitz wouldn’t see the blush burning on her cheeks, he apologized to her for the mess he’d left in the kitchen. Suddenly, his reluctance made sense to Jemma, and she found she was able to look him in the eye once more. 

Returning his nudge, Jemma gave Fitz a sympathetic nod. “I do know how that goes. I’ve had shifts where I didn’t think I’d ever eat a proper meal again. Here, take the potatoes,” she said, pulling them from the oven and taking care to make sure Fitz didn’t burn himself as he took them from her, “and I’ll grab the salad. The roast should be ready to come out in a few minutes.”

She caught the look he gave her as they set the food down on table, and Jemma decided to cut him off at the pass. “Really, Fitz, it’s nothing. Honestly. And even if it weren’t for this morning, I’d still want to cook for you. From what you’ve told me, your eating habits are absolutely dreadful. Really, consider this me doing my duty as a doctor attempting to keep you in good health.” 

Fitz’ mouth was watering from the scent of the roast. He’d attempted to make them on his own and it never came out quite right. And everything else looked amazing. He still felt bad that she’d cleaned, but he couldn’t deny that she had a point about his diet. “I’ll let y’ have tha’ point. I probably do ea’ take ou’ entirely too often. Bu’ y’ really didna have t’ do this,” he said. Turning to Jemma again, he eyed her closely now that she was actually looking at him, before continuing. “No’ today, a’ least. Y’ feelin’ okay?” 

If he was honest with himself, Fitz had been more than a bit distracted while off at the college, worried about her. He hadn’t wanted to leave her there alone, but he hadn’t had much choice. Still adjusting to her friendship and getting used to caring for someone else, Fitz felt like he’d just barely succeeded at being there for her. And even though it was still odd and uncomfortable for him, he wanted to know Jemma was okay before she left to get ready for tonight’s shift. 

Also, he made a note to set his alarm earlier for tomorrow, so he could stop by the hospital when she got off shift. 

“Fitz, I promise, I’m fi-”

The words died in her mouth at the look Fitz gave her, the one that said she would only upset him if she tried to lie to him just then. Jemma sighed, her shoulders sagging a bit as her upbeat persona faded away. 

“Honestly?” she asked, taking a moment to gauge where she was. “I’m still a little tired. I feel deflated, and I don’t know what’s waiting for me when I go in. I-” Jemma paused, debating whether Fitz would think less of her for what she was about to say. “I’m not sure if I should be hoping she pulled through during the day today so I can see what other treatments I can try with her tonight, or if it wouldn’t be better, more peaceful, for her to have passed while I was away.”

Jemma looked up at him, her hazel eyes surprisingly dry given what had happened that morning. A few hours rest, and distracting herself, had sufficiently dulled the pain so she could logically process what her options were. Still, her voice sounded hollow and worn, even to her own ears. 

“I guess I’ll just see what’s what when I get to A&E tonight,” she told him flatly with a small shrug. “But, I feel slightly better equipped to deal with it after a few hours of sleep and some relatively mindless chores.” 

He frowned at the defeated tone of Jemma’s voice when she finally told him the truth. “Is hard t’ say,” he admitted. “I dinna know enough abou’ medicine t’ say, bu’... wha’ever would be better for her. If her quality o’ life was never goin’ to improve even if she pulled through, maybe you’re righ’ t’ hope she’s passed on. Y’ made her as comfortable as y’ could, yeah?” Fitz knew Jemma would never have left the hospital that morning if she hadn’t exhausted her options. 

Jemma looked exhausted now that she’d dropped the false cheer she’d been holding onto, and Fitz nodded her toward one of the chairs at the table. “Why don’t y’ sit down, lass. I can get the roast ou’ when y’ say is ready.” He really wasn’t sure what else he could say. Fitz was terrible at being sympathetic, especially when he had nothing to relate to. It wasn’t like he’d lost anyone close to him to have any idea what Jemma was feeling right now. 

With a small yet grateful smile, Jemma collapsed into the proffered chair with a small sigh. Her mood had been lifted as she cooked, distracting herself with the simple kitchen tasks and the thought of making Fitz a good meal. However, now that she had slowed down again, thoughts of what was waiting for her when she returned to London Bridge Hospital began chipping away at her once more.

Fitz was right; she’d done everything she could for the girl, but knowing that and feeling it were two entirely different things. Still, she found it sweet the way he offered to take care of things, and did her best to be pleasant company. “It should probably be ready now, if you want to pull it out and let it rest for a minute on the stovetop,” Jemma called after him as his lean form disappeared around the kitchen door. She knew that a meal shared with Fitz, between the food and his company, would go a long way toward preparing her for that night. Although…

“You know what would be good right now?” The question was rhetorical, and loud enough for Fitz to hear her in the kitchen. “A drink. I could use a drink right now.”

That drew Fitz’ head up sharply from where he was leaned over the oven, pulling the roast out. He did as she’d said and set the roast on the oven to settle for a few minutes, and hesitated before reaching into an upper cabinet. Jemma wasn’t much of a drinker outside of the occasional glass of wine with dinner, and he usually abstained except for his Friday nights out, but he did have a bottle of good scotch. 

He didn’t ask, but simply poured a generous shot’s worth of amber liquid into a glass. The rest of the bottle went up and away - Jemma didn’t need to over-do, not when she still had to get through tonight’s shift, starting in a few hours. Fitz stepped quietly out of the kitchen and over to Jemma, bracing one hand on her shoulder and setting the glass in front of her. “I dinna have wine, so tha’s the best I can do righ’ now,” he shrugged, stepping back into the kitchen. She could drink it or not, without his presence. Instead he busied himself slicing the roast and giving her a minute or two to settle. 

The man is good, Jemma thought as she reached out for the glass, delicately wrapping her fingertips around it. She lifted it to her nose and took a tiny whiff. Her father had a rather impressive liquor collection, and as soon as she’d been able to drink, he’d given her a rundown of the basics. She knew enough to know that Fitz had given her good scotch, and her previously fragile smile doubled in size. 

She was tempted to down it in one go, but knew better than to do so on an empty stomach. Instead, she sipped at it, savoring the sharp bite and smoky finish. By the time the glass was empty, Fitz still had not reappeared, causing Jemma to grow curious. Instead of merely sitting at the table, she pushed herself up and stuck her head into the kitchen to see what was keeping him. 

Fitz had turned the roast into a stack of thin slices, leaving them in the bottom of the pan to soak in the cooking juices. He briefly considered making gravy out of it, but she’d done something different with the potatoes instead of mashing them the way he would have. He caught a flash of movement and glanced over to see Jemma peering in at him, a smile lingering around the edges of her lips. “Better, then?” he queried, lifting the pan and bringing it out to join her at the table. 

Once he sat, he saw the glass was empty and nodded, satisfied. “That should fuzz your nerves a bit, at least for a little while.” 

They made it through dinner, and Fitz reluctantly let Jemma leave on her own when she had to take off for work, intending to take a quick shower and change once she got there. Fitz was tempted to text her and check in, but if it was another rough shift, he didn’t want to make it any worse. He kept his silent promise to himself though, and was waiting when Jemma came off shift the next morning, a cup of coffee made to Jemma’s specifications in hand for her when she came out the side entrance. 

Leaving the warmth of Fitz’ flat was far more difficult than she’d expected it to be, but Jemma forced herself into the chill December air and back onto the Underground. Girding herself with the happy memories of a good meal and their easy conversation, Jemma plunged back into A&E, showering quickly in the staff locker room and pulling on a fresh set of scrubs before starting her rounds. 

The night flew by, and between the new cases streaming in the hospital doors and the adrenaline it triggered in her, Jemma was able to lose herself in her work, effectively blocking out the image of the empty bed she’d discovered at the beginning of her shift. Fitz was right, she reminded herself time and time again as she worked; she had done everything she could, and whatever happened to the girl had happened. It was just a reality of the work. 

Jemma still left feeling drained that morning, although far less emotional, and the sight of Fitz, propped against the wall in what she had come to think of as his usual spot outside the employee door was a relief. She managed a genuine, if tired, smile when she saw him, and gratefully took the coffee he offered her. 

“Fitz, this is perfect. Thank you.” 

Fitz’ returning smile turned a little sad when he got a good look at Jemma - he could see the answer to his question on her face, but he asked anyway. If Jemma needed to talk, he was determined to be there for her even if it made him uncomfortable. “She died, didn’ she?” he said quietly, hesitating over the words. “Before or after y’ go’ there?” He hoped it had been before, that Jemma hadn’t had to watch that happen. 

He started to move, to take their usual path from the hospital to the Underground station, but Jemma didn’t follow him and Fitz turned back to look at her again. “Jem?” 

Jemma had frozen, staring down at the biodegradable black lid of her coffee cup, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, when Fitz asked his question. She was determined not to cry. She would not do this to him two mornings in a row. She was a professional; it was part of the work, and she’d be okay. Even if it didn’t feel that way in the moment. 

She looked up when he called her name, his brogue soft and clearly concerned, and swallowed in an effort to hold back her tears. “She did. Before I got in. The bed was just empty, and…” she glanced down again, even as she took a few steps nearer to him, “... and I just couldn’t bring myself to ask after her. It just seemed easier that way.” 

Fitz sighed and closed the short distance between them, curling his arm through hers. “Tha’ might be for the bes’, lass. At leas’ she’s no’ hurtin’ anymore, righ’?” He led her across the parking lot toward the Underground station, letting Jemma have a space of silence, but hesitated at the corner. “Y’ want t’ go home, or do y’ want t’ stop an’ get somethin’ for breakfast?” 

Jemma tipped her head to rest on Fitz’ shoulder after he linked their arms and slowly led them along, just enjoying having him with her. She looked up at him when they came to a halt, and considered her options. In truth, as much as she wanted his company, she couldn’t bring herself to pull him away from another day’s work, not when his project depended on it so. 

“I’ll be okay, Fitz. I think I just need a shower and a good chunk of sleep.” 

While he nodded his understanding, he wouldn’t let her make the journey home alone, and so he accompanied her on the Underground and all the way to her door before bidding her goodbye. She was standing in her doorway, watching him as he resettled his bag on his shoulder, when an idea occurred to her, something she thought might make them both feel a tad bit better. 

“My next night off is Sunday. Do you feel like grabbing dinner? Just something simple, so we can talk. With all the craziness at the hospital, I haven’t had a chance to ask how your project’s coming along. I’d like to hear about it.” 

Fitz was quiet on the journey across town to Jemma’s, comfortable in only breaking the silence when one of them had something to say. He was just getting ready to say goodbye when she mentioned dinner on Sunday, and he brightened a little, pleased by the invitation. “Tha’ sounds good. I dinna have anything planned. Want t’ make i’ early, so you actually get t’ see dayligh’ for a little while?” It had become a bit of a joke that Jemma barely saw sunlight with the season and her hours. 

“Remind me t’ talk t’ you abou’ Christmas, too,” he added. Given his family situation, he’d be home alone the duration of the holiday season, and he figured Jemma might be around some. Unlike some jobs, she wouldn’t get a real break. It wasn’t as if the hospital shut down or emergencies stopped happening, so her going home for any length of time wasn’t a real possibility. And at the same time, if her family was coming in, he didn’t want to interrupt her time with them. 

She chuckled softly at his joke about her seeing daylight. “Early is good for me. Do you want to make it lunch instead, then? That way we could catch a movie afterward.” Jemma had a feeling that even after having a few days to process what had happened to her patient, she’d still want Fitz nearby; he had a remarkably calming effect on her usually overenthusiastic self, and she always had a good time when he was around. 

Jemma’s mood really perked up when he mentioned Christmas, her shoulders coming out of their slump and her eyes growing bright. She had enjoyed the holiday as a girl and all the trappings that went with it, but now, working in A&E, she didn’t have the chance to really make holiday plans. Until now, that is. 

“Of course we can talk about Christmas. My family used to travel over the holiday, but now that I’m tied to the hospital…” Jemma trailed off and shrugged. “Even if I’m working the day of, we could still have our own little celebration, if you wanted.”

“Late lunch, early dinner… wha’ever,” Fitz chuckled, backing away to head off to his lab. “I’ll text y’ Saturday t’ figure ou’ the time an’ where t’ meet, okay?” He was a little embarrassed about bringing up Christmas on top of everything else, although Jemma’s expression had done quite a bit to mitigate that feeling. He gave her a crooked little smile when she nodded her acceptance and went on his way across Kensington to get over to Imperial College. 

~*~ 

Sunday afternoon, Fitz made his way over to Jemma’s, cursing the snow and ice. Unlike his own spottily cleared neighborhood, Jemma’s was neatly shoveled and properly salted, so he was able to hurry from the Underground to her little apartment, only running a few minutes late. To his surprise, a dark sedan was outside of the cheerful teal rowhouse, and he wondered whose it was. Neither Jemma nor her downstairs neighbor had a car. 

He was just circling the back bumper when Jemma’s front door swung open and she came out with a smartly dressed older couple. The man’s eyes fixed almost immediately on Fitz, and Fitz’ fingers tightened around the strap of his messenger bag with sudden nervousness. There was no mistaking those hazel eyes, even on a man’s face. “Ah. Mr. and Mrs. Simmons, I assume?” he asked politely, steeling himself as he stepped forward. 

Jemma saw the way Fitz’ Adam’s apple bobbed and his fingers tightened around the strap of his bag, and pushed her way between her parents to stand next to him. She gave him a quick smile and nod, hoping to ease the nerves she saw dancing behind those blue eyes, and set about making introductions. 

“Mum, Dad, this is Fi- uh, Leo Fitz,” she corrected herself, belatedly remembering that her parents wouldn’t think much of calling him by his surname. “You know, the friend I was telling you about. Fitz, these are my parents, Elliot and Vivian Simmons.” Jemma carefully threaded her hand through Fitz’ arm as she turned her full attention to him. 

“I know we had plans, but Mum called yesterday, and when she heard about my week, she insisted on coming in to see me. They’ve made reservations. Come with us.” Fitz’ mouth opens, as though he’s about to protest, and Jemma can’t help but give his arm a little squeeze. She had made plans to spend the day with him, and still wants his company above all else. She glances back to her mother before he can respond and puts on her best pleading face. “That’s not a problem, is it, Mum? Surely they can squeeze one more into the reservation.”

“Not a problem at all dear,” Vivian Simmons returned with a smile that doesn’t quite manage to reach her eyes as she looked Fitz up and down. Still, she pulled out her mobile and began making the necessary arrangements, while Jemma gave Fitz a gentle nudge toward the car. 

“Jemma…” Fitz began, his voice low and ready to protest. He doesn’t want to interfere with Jemma’s time with her parents and he’s definitely not sure about going to dinner with them. Looking at the car and the way they were dressed, he suspected he was entirely unprepared for what Jemma was getting him into. And yet, she’d grabbed hold of his hand and was clearly enthused about the idea, and he wasn’t about to bicker with her in front of her parents. 

An hour later, Fitz was certain he’d rather have had the argument. Underdressed for the restaurant Jemma’s parents had chosen and unfamiliar with the people and places and things that Jemma’s mother chose for conversation, he spent much of the meal as a quiet shadow at his friend’s side. Always a half a beat late as he waited for Jemma or one of her parents to pick up flatware, so he knew he was using the right one, careful to not clink anything and to take small bites and sips… Fitz was so uncomfortable he was ready to stutter over his words - something he only did when he was really, terribly nervous. 

Once dinner was over and they were lingering over coffee and dessert - which Fitz had declined, even though the tiny portions had left him still starving - Jemma’s father eyed him in a way that made his shoulders straighten under the scrutiny. The questions started in then, with both Elliott and Vivian peppering him with queries about his past, his current work, his ambitions and his friendship with Jemma. While he answered things truthfully, Fitz was still left with the distinct impression they’d found him sorely lacking as a companion for their daughter. 

Fitz held back when they returned to Jemma’s flat in Bayswater, catching the sleeve of her coat and drawing her to the side after she’d unlocked the door for her parents. “Jemma. I’m gonna go. I already feel bad abou’ taggin’ along for dinner, an’ they clearly want t’ spend some time with y’. We can catch up later.” He also needed to feed his still growling stomach and patch his ego up a bit. Spending time with the clearly affluent and judgmental Mr. and Mrs. Simmons had left him feeling a bit bruised. He might not have a lot, but Fitz was doing okay for himself. And if this project worked out, he’d be better than okay, but he had the impression that wouldn’t count for much to Elliott and Vivian. 

Jemma’s brow furrowed, her concern plain as her gaze darted over his face. Fitz look absolutely miserable, and she wanted nothing more than to pull him inside and make him tea... but her mother was calling out asking where the kettle was and her father was grumbling about her decorating. She stood there for a moment, torn between wanting to spend time with Fitz and needing to tend to her parents. It didn’t sit well with her, but she pushed up onto the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek and let him go.

When her parents finally left a few hours later, the first thing Jemma did when the door latched behind them was reach for her mobile. She couldn’t help the way her face fell when she didn’t see a text notification from Fitz, and quickly tapped out a message of her own.

Fitz [23:03]: I’m sorry my parents gate crashed. Are you free tomorrow?

She busied herself cleaning her flat, washing and drying the cups they’d used and straightening her throw pillows, essentially anything she could to keep herself from focusing on her messages. She checked once more before turning in for the evening, but there still wasn’t anything her screen. Disappointment gnawing at her gut, Jemma pulled her covers over her shoulders and dropped into a troubled sleep. 

Fitz knew he shouldn’t be irritated with Jemma - she hadn’t done anything wrong - but at the same time he couldn’t help himself. They’d had plans and he was disappointed they’d fallen through thanks to her parent’s unexpected appearance. Toss in their dismissive and disapproving attitude toward him and Fitz was torn between irritation and now second-guessing himself. 

After finishing off the burger and fries he’d picked up on the way home to Highgate and digging into the ice cream he had in the freezer, he eventually looked at his phone, scowling at the message from Jemma. No, he wasn’t free tomorrow. He had research to do. Plane fuel to experiment on, as useless as the Simmonses seemed to think his project was. Her mother had done that same little nose wrinkle that Jemma did sometimes, except on the older woman it had been a mixture of a sneer and distaste. How had Jemma even come from those people? 

He fell asleep with that on his mind and slept poorly, waking up in a piss-poor mood and crawling into the city and his lab to keep himself going with coffee and attitude as his only fuel.


	5. Chapter 5

Jemma woke slowly, images from the night before slowly filtering across her mind. Wounded blue eyes stuck out in particular, and she reached for her phone in response, hoping that Fitz had texted during the night. 

He hadn’t.

She had a niggling feeling that she had to fix it, had to find a way to make it better, that it was all on her. But as Jemma had never had a friend as good as Fitz before, she was at an utter loss how to go about that. Eventually, she forced herself out of bed and puttered about her flat, still trying to find some way to apologize for what had happened the night before. It wasn’t until she was going through her refrigerator, trying to create her grocery list that it dawned on her. 

Fitz was forever eating. His metabolism was unreal, and she had yet to see him turn down food. That was it. She’d bring him food. Excited that she had found the perfect peace offering, Jemma rushed to get dressed. If she moved quickly enough, she could get her shopping done, pack Fitz a lunch, and still be at Imperial College before lunch time. 

Jemma cut it close, but she managed to arrive on campus just after twelve, a packed lunch for both herself and Fitz clutched in her gloved hands. It wasn’t difficult to navigate the campus, and once she found the right building, it was merely a matter of asking a passing student for directions to Fitz’ laboratory. Jemma faced the door, and took a brief moment to admire Fitz’ name engraved on the name plate before pushing her way in. 

He was hunched over a computer, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Fitz?” she called, voice far more timid than she would have liked. “I just thought I’d pop by to see you. I brought lunch.” Jemma held the plain brown bag up before her, hopeful that he’d accept her offering. 

Fitz’ back tensed, ready to snarl at whoever had dared to invade his lab without knocking, but the sound of Jemma’s voice sent a pang through him. He’d meant to answer her text that morning, but he was still grumpy and not in the mood to be particularly communicative, so he’d left it alone. Jemma, clearly, couldn’t do the same.

Spinning around on his stool and leaning back with his elbows on the edge of the counter, Fitz frowned at her, blue eyes narrowed as he studied her. He wanted to snap and snarl at her the way he’d done everyone else today, but this was Jemma, and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to deliberately shove away the only friend he had. “You’ll have to give me fifteen minutes or so t’ get t’ a good stoppin’ poin’,” Fitz offered, still sounding a bit grumpy. 

Fitz’ look froze Jemma in her tracks, convinced she had suddenly made a terrible mistake in not insisting he stay with her the night before. Her first instinct was to run from that withering gaze, to leave his lunch and try again later, but she forced herself to stand firm. This was Fitz, her best friend. Her only friend. She couldn’t leave him, not like this, not with him clearly so upset with her.

Instead, she nodded, a small, nearly timid movement as she licked her lips and got her nerves under control. “That’s all right,” Jemma answered, peeling off her gloves and sticking them into her pocket before loosening her scarf. “I’m happy to wait. I made enough for us both; I thought we could eat together.” 

That settled, Jemma slowly began to walk the lab, looking at the models and charts Fitz had scattered about, but taking care not to touch anything. She was almost painfully aware of his eyes on her, and it was all she could do to hope the fifteen minutes passed as quickly as possible. 

After that dinner last night, with Fitz terrified of embarrassing himself, or worse, embarrassing her in front of her parents, there was a piece of him that felt unfairly satisfied that she was uncomfortable now. Spinning back around to his computer, he skipped from charts and readings and graphs and back to his report several times, analyzing the data and plugging it into his report. 

It was probably closer to twenty minutes before he finished the section he was working on and could save his work and close out of the files. He turned to find Jemma leaned close to one of the drawings on the far wall, which weren’t actually related to his project, but other ideas that had been strong enough to make him draw them to get them out of his head and let him focus on the current project. From this angle he couldn’t tell which one she was peering at. “Found somethin’ interesting, I see?” he called out, his voice less harsh than it had been before. 

Jemma had wandered further away when Fitz had gone back to his work, wanting to give him space and hoping he would cool down if she did so. Lunch bag still clenched firmly in hand, she wandered past various lab setups, doing no more than glance them over as she made her way to the far wall. 

The drawings were what at caught her eye, some done in full color, others clearly rushed pencil sketches, but each one showing concepts that were more amazing than the ones before. Jemma saw what looked like a rather comprehensive hydroponics set up, a fully automated kitchen, and even a wand-like device that seemed to be made to dig large holes. But what had caught her attention, and what she’d been staring at so intently when Fitz finally called out to her, were the drawings of seven miniaturized drones. 

She started a bit, jerking in surprise at his voice in the previously quiet lab, and turned to look back at Fitz. His eyes were inscrutable from this distance, but his tone had mellowed some, putting Jemma slightly more at ease. She approached him cautiously, winding her way back through the lab set ups and risking a small smile. “I saw your drones. It seems the potential applications are countless. If the idea wasn’t so bloody brilliant on its own, I’d suggest that as something you offer up when applying for jobs one day. As it stands, I’d hate to see you have to share the patent with anyone.” 

Jemma set their lunch down on a clear space she found next to Fitz, near enough to be in his line of sight, so she could shove her hands back into the pockets of her coat. She cleared her throat, her nerves creeping back up on her now that she was near enough to see the hurt in his clear blue eyes, and forced herself to speak. 

“Fitz, I’m sorry about last night. My parents… they’re snooty on their best days and downright awful on their worst. Sad thing is, I don’t even think they realize what they’re doing. I’m sorry I put you through that. I just… I was looking forward to seeing you, and didn’t want to give up our time together just because they decided to pop in.”

One of the corners of Fitz’ mouth twitched up. He was rather partial to the Dwarves, as he called them privately. “I dinna plan on sellin’ any o’ those designs wholesale. I migh’ sell th’ rights t’ produce them, bu’ tha’s probably i’. They’re customizable, bu’ anyone with half a brain could come up with a hundred ways t’ misuse them,” he admitted. “Gets complicated if I think on i’ too much.” 

Still, the unease from the night before lingered. Fitz hadn’t expected to be grilled last night when she’d invited him along to dinner, and he hated feeling like he’d been judged and found wanting. He could only imagine what her parents had had to say about him when he’d left her flat. Given that it had been a few hours before she’d texted him, he figured there’d been plenty. 

His eyes shifted restlessly between Jemma, the bags she’d laid on the lab bench and the rest of his lab. “So wha’s so important y’ came down here for lunch?” It had been a couple months now and despite her initial interest when they’d met, this was the first time she’d ventured down here to his school. 

Jemma frowned when she heard the put-out note in his voice, her heart clenching a bit. She thought she’d made it clear why she’d come down, but obviously she hadn’t convinced Fitz. She stepped closer to him, and allowing her hand to drift toward him, rested it on his forearm just below the crook of his elbow. 

“I came down here to see you, Fitz. We missed our lunch, and I wanted to spend time with you. I missed talking to you yesterday,” she confessed, voice soft as she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I also meant what I said: I want to know how your research is coming along. What better place for you to tell me about that than your lab?”

“Oh.” It was soft, not quite an exclamation, but Fitz’ surprise was clear in his tone. He’d honestly thought that there was some sort of agenda behind Jemma’s visit, especially if her parents had taken a dislike to him. Given how quiet Jemma had been while they questioned him last night, he hadn’t been entirely certain she’d fight for him if her parents had expressed their disapproval. 

He glanced down at the hand Jemma had laid over his arm and sighed, the irritation washing away like water. Fitz hadn’t ever been truly mad at her, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay angry even if she gave him a reason to be. “There’s no’ really much t’ see, really,” he shrugged, then nodded toward the wall she’d been looking over. “All the drawings down there are projects I migh’ eventually get t’. Everythin’ up here is for the fuel project. I jus’ finished a bunch o’ tests on Friday, so I’ve been lookin’ over th’ data t’ see wha’s there.” 

Something in Fitz’ mood shifted, and Jemma thought she saw the the last vestiges of his anger fade away, releasing the knot of tension in her chest. Turning toward his lab bench, Jemma sidled up next to him, their shoulders brushing, as she focused her attention on his computer screen. She quickly realized that she didn’t quite understand what she was looking at, and a soft blush bloomed in her cheeks. 

It was a rare event indeed that Jemma Simmons had to admit her ignorance in any way, shape, or form.

“Honestly, I only understand about a third of what I’m seeing… explain it to be a bit over lunch? I made prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwiches.” She saw Fitz arch a brow in curiosity and Jemma couldn’t help but laugh softly in response. She liked how expressive his face could be, although she greatly preferred this look to the one she’d been privy to earlier. “Don’t worry, Fitz, I packed crisps and even some Cadbury’s, too.” 

Fitz craned his head back to look at his computer screen and the open report. A condensed copy of one of his graphs was up, and he chuckled. “I’d be surprised if y’ did, lass. No’ unless y’ studied avionics withou’ tellin’ me. Is… no’ complicated, exactly. Y’ would probably be able t’ grasp i’ with a bi’ o’ reference information.” He turned on the stool again, his knees bumping Jemma’s side and clicked into a larger graph. A few more tapped and clicked commands had the graph projected in 3D onto the opposite wall. 

“See here an’ here?” He used the pointer to direct Jemma’s attention to various points on the dimensional graph. “Each line is a particular model of aircraft, an’ this is charting the plane’s physical weigh’, then again fully fueled, with additional axis for top speed an’ possible distance. Basically, I’m tryin’ t’ create an algorithm t’ model how reducin’ the fuel weight in th’ plane will increase speed or allow for longer flights - or more hops - before a refuel is necessary. I have some ideas for th’ fuel, bu’ I need a general idea of how light I need t’ aim for t’ make i’ worthwhile for manufacturers to tes’ the new system.” 

He glanced over at her, feeling far more comfortable now as he saw the understanding dawn over her face and bumped her with his elbow. “So. Y’ said somethin’ abou’ crisps?” 

“I did say something about crisps,” Jemma replied, a twist in her lips. She’d quickly learned that Fitz always thought with his stomach, on some level. She reached over and grabbed the two paper bags, unloading both sandwiches and the crisps, placing one of each in front of him. 

“I would have liked to have had an actual picnic, but it’s a tad cold for that,” she teased, nodding toward the snow that decorated the windowsills. Turning around, she found a stool for herself and dragged it over to sit next to Fitz as they ate. Jemma watched as he tore into the packet of crisps first and began wolfing them down. She shook her head, clearly amused by the way he seemed to be avoiding the sandwich. “Your mum had to bribe you with dessert to get you to eat your dinner, didn’t she?”

“Depended on wha’ she’d made,” Fitz admitted, eyeing the sandwich she’d set in front of him warily. “What’d y’ put on tha’ thing again?” He picked at the plastic wrap she’d sealed it with, hungry, but not sure about whatever it was she’d made it with. Fitz had been wary of food as a child, mostly gotten over it as a teenager, but a few unfortunate experiences after moving to London had made him careful again.

He crunched his way through another crisp - Fitz also had an affection for snacks. While he preferred salty things, sweet would do in a pinch if it came in bits that could be popped into his mouth. “An’ is too bloody cold t’ be thinkin’ o’ doing anythin’ outside righ’ now, excep’ hurryin’ on your way t’ the Underground or wherever i’ is you’re goin’.” Fitz paused and stared at her. “Did y’ walk down here from Bayswater? Jemma. Please tell me y’ took a cab, a’ leas’.” 

Jemma arched her brow as she watched Fitz poke and prod at the sandwich, clearly suspicious of what she was trying to feed him. Her parents had refused to change their eating habits for their children, and so as soon as each of the Simmons girls had been able to eat solids, a parade of foreign dishes and haute cuisine had been placed before them for meals. Turning their nose up at a dish had never been tolerated, and so Jemma had learned long ago to at least sample everything, even if she did have her favorites. However, knowing Fitz and his obvious dislike of change or chaos of any kind, Jemma had stuck with a rather basic sandwich. 

“It’s prosciutto and fresh buffalo mozzarella, Fitz.” She saw the slightly dubious look as he popped yet another crisp into his mouth and elaborated. “It’s like ham, but the flavor is stronger. And the cheese is just what the mozzarella you’re used to is like before all of the water is squeezed out of it. There’s a bit of pesto aioli on there, too… think of it as garlicky mayonnaise, with a bit of green.” 

She watched as Fitz slowly unwrapped the sandwich, inspecting as he went, and resigned herself to letting him decide for himself if he liked it. Just because Jemma liked the flavor combination didn’t mean everyone would. Deftly unwrapping her own sandwich, Jemma took a bite, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “I took a cab. I had enough of the walking going between the grocer’s and home, thank you very much.” 

“Good. I’d have had t’ fuss at y’ for tha’. Here you’re a doctor, runnin’ abou’ in the cold. Y’ should know better,” he teased, easing back into their usual relaxed attitude with each other. Fitz also didn’t want her getting sick. Honestly, he was surprised that she didn’t pick up illnesses from her patients, but there was probably some sort of immunity she’d built up by now, too. 

It took him a bit before he ventured a bite of the sandwich Jemma had brought, tentatively chewing and absorbing flavors. After a few bites, he lifted the thing to his nose instead of his mouth and sniffed before glancing over at Jemma. “There’s a bit too much o’ this green stuff, wha’ever y’ said tha’ is,” he finally, “Bu’ is no’ bad. An’ thank y’ for lunch, by the way. I think I forgot t’ say tha’ before.” 

“Duly noted,” Jemma responded around a mouthful of her own sandwich before she pulled herself together enough to chew and swallow. “Only a hint of the pesto aioli in the future.” She nudged Fitz with her shoulder, licking her lips as she reached for a crisp of her own. “You’re welcome. I’m just happy we were able to do this. My parents mean well, but the execution is often piss-poor.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose at the thought. Her parents had likely pushed it too far with Fitz the night before, asking him questions and weighing his answers, trying to get a feel for the man their daughter had been telling them so much about. Her mother had been quiet, willing to let her father take the lead, and the older man had made his distaste for Fitz’ work plain. It wasn’t that he thought engineering was an irreputible profession, not at all; he just simply couldn’t comprehend why someone would do lab work himself instead of passing it off to underlings. Jemma had tried to explain that it was just how Fitz operated; he took pride in his work and wanted it all to be his own, but her father still had looked at her askance as he sipped at his tea. 

“You know my father actually asked me how long we’d been seeing each other after you left? He couldn’t understand why my mother and I started giggling at that.”

“Is no’ like we wouldna have seen each other later this week,” Fitz pointed out, not realizing she’d taken his silence the night before the way she did. He’d just needed some time to feel less bruised, not that he’d planned to cut her out of his life. 

They also hadn’t gotten to talk about Christmas as he’d planned, and he hesitated before bringing it up now. If her parents already didn’t like him much, he wasn’t sure what they’d think about him and Jemma spending the holiday together. After a minute or two though, Fitz realized he really didn’t care. Jemma was his friend, and he wasn’t giving her up that easily. “Do y’ have your schedule from th’ hospital for over th’ holidays ye’? I was thinkin’ if y’ have a day free near Christmas y’ could come up an’ help me make a mess o’ my kitchen, making a big holiday dinner.” 

Left to his own devices and limited cooking ability, that’s definitely what would happen. If Jemma came up, he thought he could probably follow directions for chopping and other preparation work well enough to end up with a decent meal. 

Jemma grinned at his question, the image of a flour-covered Fitz trying to make a traditional Christmas dinner dancing across her mind. From the limited sample size she had, she was aware that his cooking skills were limited, and she couldn’t help but be amused by the fact that someone who was so confident and orderly in his lab would turn his kitchen into a total disaster zone if left unattended for too long. 

“I do have my schedule, in fact.” Jemma reached for her mobile and pulled up the coming schedule. “It looks like I’m on the 23rd through the 26th, but I’m off on the 27th.” She glanced back to Fitz, who was watching her as she went through the schedule. “I could bring a bag with me to work Monday evening, and come to your flat on Tuesday morning, if you don’t mind me showering and crashing a bit before we start cooking.”

Jemma wasn’t sure if she was being too presumptuous, inviting herself over straight away after work, but Fitz had been the one to ask her over. And, in truth, it would be easier to get to his flat from the hospital instead of slogging home, packing up, and then coming over. 

“Tha’ works, actually. The school is closed from Christmas Eve until the day after New Year’s. I mean… I can ge’ in here, bu’ there willna be anyone aroun’ excep’ Security,” Fitz shrugged. “A week will no’ make a huge difference in wha’ I’m workin’ on righ’ now, so I’m goin’ t’ take the break. See wha’ trouble, I can ge’ into, bein’ left a’ loose ends,” he added, grinning at her. They both knew he likely wouldn’t get into real trouble, just whatever his overactive brain got him hooked into. 

He thought through Jemma’s plan and timetable and after a minute he nodded. “Y’ still have my spare key, yeah? If y’ can le’ yourself in withou’ wakin’ me up, it’d be nice t’ sleep in a bi’,” Fitz suggested. He pulled out his own phone and blocked off the 27th, along with making a separate note to turn off his alarms for that whole week so he wouldn’t be woken up before he felt like rising. “An’ if y’ tell me what y’ want t’ make, I can do the grocery shoppin’ beforehand.” 

Honestly, the whole conversation sounded incredibly domestic, but Fitz was pleased he’d have company for part of the holiday instead of spending that whole stretch alone. He’d debated going to the club one of those nights and picking someone up, but it felt strange to assuage his loneliness that way during the Christmas season. He really just missed the traditions from when he was a child, before everything had gone so badly with his father. 

Jemma nodded, her eyes glazing a bit as Fitz spoke; she was already planning their meal and thinking about which recipes she’d need to copy to her phone before the 27th rolled around. “That sounds perfect. I’ll make sure I have a list of ingredients emailed to you soon. And whatever pots and pans you don’t have, I’ll bring them over bit by bit during the week, if that’s all right.”

~*~

The morning of December 27th dawned bright, crisp, and clear, and Jemma practically skipped out the doors of London Bridge Hospital in delight. The past four days had been nightmarish, but only because of her extended hours; fortunately there had been no true tragedies, and she was actually able to leave on time for once. She quickly boarded the Northern line, and tucking her small duffle on the seat next to her, settled in for the ride to Highgate in the oddly empty carriage. 

She had to force herself to slow down coming out of the station, picking her way across the snow and ice strewn walk to Fitz’ drive. Fortunately, his professor had taken the time to clear the drive properly, and Jemma was able to slip in through Fitz’ door without any near-death experiences. Moving silently, she shucked off her coat, boots, and winter gear, taking care to leave them on the appropriate hooks and mats before locking the door behind her and padding into the kitchen. 

A quick glance through the refrigerator and pantry revealed that Fitz had gotten all of the shopping done, as promised. Jemma grinned, and glanced at his shut bedroom door, from which the faintest sound of snoring could be heard. Content that she had all she would need in a few hours, Jemma curled up on the sofa, and pulling the nearby throw blanket over her, was soon fast asleep. 

When Fitz finally crawled out of bed - blackout curtains had worked miracles for his ability to sleep in when he didn’t have to be at the lab - he nearly forgot that Jemma was supposed to be there. Startling to a halt in his bedroom door, seeing her curled into a ball on his couch, it took him a moment to remember it was the 27th. Letting out a little huff, he went back in his room for a moment to put a shirt on before quietly wandering into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. 

Jemma or no Jemma, he needed caffeine. 

While he waited, he booted his laptop up, and by the time Jemma stirred, Fitz had a mug in hand as he trolled through the the posts that had come in overnight on his RSS feeds. “Mornin’,” he called over quietly when Jemma stirred and he saw her eyes blink open. “Coffee is in the kitchen, or the bathroom is free, whichever y’ wan’ first.” He knew she couldn’t have showered - the rattling of the plumbing would have woken him for sure. 

Giving a small nod as she yawned and stretched on her half of the sofa, Jemma pulled herself from sleep. It took her another few moments before she felt ready to move, but she eventually dragged herself from the plush cushions to fold the throw and stack it along with the pillow where she’d found them. She gave Fitz a sleepy half-grin, passing by close enough to affectionately brush a hand through his curls, and murmured, “Good morning.”

She decided a shower was in order first, and grabbing her duffle, scurried into the bathroom for a quick one. She forced herself to speed up her usually relaxed routine, not wanting to take too much time incase Fitz needed to get in, and was out in no later than ten minutes, hair pulled back in a braid and dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a comfortable jumper, her dirty clothes, towel, and toiletries all neatly packed away. 

Jemma dropped her bag back at the door once more, and shuffled into the kitchen to pour herself a mug of coffee. Finally feeling like she was edging closer to being human again, Jemma returned to his sitting area and tucked herself into the sofa next to him, near enough so their arms were brushing. She took a few minutes to drink her coffee, letting the caffeine work its way through her system before speaking. 

“I’m not sure when you want to eat, but the bird will take a while, even though it’s small. We should probably start prepping that first. In fact, I’ll start it as soon as I’m done with this,” Jemma said, lifting her mug to her lips once more for emphasis. “Are you showering before we get started?” 

Fitz made a face when she mussed his already fuzzy and disordered curls even further, but smiled a little too where Jemma couldn’t see. Since that day she’d unexpectedly come up to his flat Jemma had been more affectionate, especially in ways she knew irked him a little but were too small to really grumble over. 

He’d finished going through his feed by the time she got out of the shower, and he watched her, amused by her neatness. “Y’ dinna have t’ be quite so finicky abou’ cleanin’ up after yourself, lass. Y’ have seen my messes in here,” Fitz chuckled. “Jus’ make yourself a’ home.” He subsided when she settled in next to him, ignoring the way she peeked at what he was reading from time to time. 

An’ are y’ tryin’ t’ say I smell?” Fitz scowled, sniffing at himself. “I took a shower las’ nigh’, figurin’ y’ would be in the bathroom forever this mornin’.” He glanced over at her and made another face at Jemma’s little smirk. “Be glad I like y’, lass. C’mon. Up. Y’ can finish your coffee while we unpack my fridge. Tha’s a lo’ o’ stuff y’ told me t’ buy.” Fitz set the laptop aside and bounced up from the couch, energized by the thought of food, and held a hand out to her. 

He looked so much like a little boy bouncing about, curls mussed and still in his pajamas, that Jemma had absolutely no warning when it came to the giggle that bubbled up in her throat and spilled across her lips. Fitz’ mirth was just that contagious, and she found herself bouncing right along with him as he led them into the kitchen. 

Unloading the refrigerator was quick work, and Jemma set about organizing the ingredients by recipe, parceling out the appropriate items into neat little piles. She set Fitz loose on the turkey, asking him to clean it, dry it, and set it in the pan she’d brought over as she quickly chopped the onions and assorted herbs. Once he was set, she dressed the bird the way her family’s cook always had taught, tied the legs and put it in the oven to roast. 

The largest portion of the meal handled, Jemma set Fitz to the kitchen tasks he assured her he could handle: making mashed potatoes and Brussel sprouts. She handled the dressing and the other minutiae, and aside from the five minute interlude they used to pelt each other with kitchen scraps and giggle like children, she and Fitz worked rather efficiently. Before long, the table was laden with the fruits of their labor, but before they tucked in, Jemma made a detour to her bag, retrieving a tiny, plainly wrapped box, and placed it next to Fitz’ plate. 

Fitz made himself into Jemma’s assistant for the afternoon, chopping and mixing as she directed and generally being amazed watching her put things together. He’d always wished he’d known how to cook, but honestly he’d never had anyone to learn from. Neither of his parents had been any good at anything besides the basics, and looking back his diet had been even worse than it was now. 

It honestly was both more and less work than he’d expected, and it felt like hardly any time had passed by the time they were celebrating the last item going into the oven with an impromptu food fight. Fitz would probably be finding food bits for days, but it had been fun, and seeing Jemma laughing outright, cheeks pink and out of breath, had been good for them both. 

When they settled in at the table and she set the small box down, Fitz scowled at it. “Y’ can pu’ tha’ away until after dinner, lass, when I can give y’ my presen’. We dinna have enough room on the table for i’ now.” He was more than a little nervous about his ‘present’, given it wasn’t a real thing just yet. More an idea and design, and up to Jemma whether she actually wanted it to be built for her. There were some things he’d need her input for anyway. But he wanted to be able to spread the drawings out on the table along with the little scale model he’d built and that would have to wait until they’d had dinner and cleaned up. 

Slightly injured, but far more curious, Jemma reached out and reclaimed the small box, tucking it carefully into the back pocket of her jeans before turning to the meal. It hadn’t turned out half bad, for them cooking an entire menu on their own, and both she and Fitz ate their fill at least twice over. As it was, he’d still have leftovers for days, something she found rather pleasing, given that his usual diet consisted of whatever take away or frozen foods he could afford. 

Once dinner was finished, they cleared the dishes, stacking plates next to the sink and vowing to wash them later, once some of the meal-induced lethargy wore off. As she followed her friend back to his living area, Jemma pulled out her gift once more, hiding it carefully in her hand, and waited to see just what Fitz would do next before trying to give it to him once more. 

Fitz kept on into his bedroom, coming back with his tablet, a roll of drafting paper and a shoebox, setting the lot on the table before he glanced at Jemma, looking both a bit sheepish and a bit anxious at the same time. “So, I’m sor’ o’ cheatin’ when i’ comes t’ your presen’. Is actually no’ a real thing ye’. Unless y’ want it t’ be.” 

He handed her the roll of drawings and motioned to the cleared table. “Go ahead. Take a look. I know y’ said y’ have a lo’ o’ things in storage because y’ dinna have a place for them, so I though’ maybe y’ could take advantage o’ those high ceilings in your fla’.” Fitz fidgeted nervously, watching her spread the design out, helpfully grabbing random things to use as paperweights to let her see it without the thin vellum rolling back up. 

Jemma worried her bottom lip as her curiosity overcame her, and she eagerly began to unroll what even she could tell was a blue print. It took her a minute, but she recognized the windows from her flat, with their nearly floor-to-ceiling length and distinctive arches, but the walls on either side were different in these sketches, and she leaned in to get a better look. 

Instead of the plain, painted dry wall she currently had, Fitz had sketched out two massive bookshelves, designed to sit atop the squat radiators that kept her flat habitable in the winter and stretching up to the top of the window frames. She puzzled for a minute over how she would reach the top shelves, when she spied a smaller drawing in the bottom corner, and grinned. Fitz had designed a small ladder as well, one that could apparently be folded up, if she was reading this correctly. 

Righting herself, she turned toward her friend, and before she could hesitate, flung her arms around his neck and planted a kiss squarely on his cheek. “Fitz! This is wonderful! Of course I’d want it! It’s practically perfect! But…” Jemma pulled back to look him in the eye without breaking her hold, her brow furrowing slightly as she did so. “This is an awful lot of work. Are you really sure you want to do all of this?” 

Licking her lips, she considered him and did her best to restrain her enthusiasm. She very much wanted these wondrous bookshelves Fitz had designed for her, but not if it mean putting him out too much. He had his own work to mind, too, after all. 

Fitz flushed a vivid pink at her enthusiasm, ducking bashfully at her kiss. “No, lass. I’m jus’ goin’ t’ give y’ the drawings with no intention o’ buildin’ them,” he grumbled, but there was a bit of humor underneath it.” He pulled a little scale model of the shelves out of the box and pulled a photo of her flat up on his tablet. “I was only goin’ t’ make one, bu’ it jus’ doesna look right.” Tapping the screen, he made the bookshelf on one side of the window disappear, and then changed it again with the other one gone. “See? An’ I didna want t’ take up extra room with th’ ladder, so i’ goes up flush against th’ front o’ the shelves when you’re no’ usin’ it.” 

As he spoke he drew the ladder out on the model, showing how it was hinged upon the top shelf and rolled on small wheels at the bottom, swinging out when needed and hiding in plain sight when it wasn’t. “I’ willna take me tha’ long, really. I was thinkin’ t’ weather the wood t’ match the star on your wall. Tha’ will take longer than anythin’ else. I’ve go’ tools an’ such a’ school I can bring over. Build everythin’ righ’ there, really.” 

“You’ve really thought everything out, haven’t you?” Jemma murmured, more to herself than to Fitz, her awe showing through. Not only would his design work perfectly in her flat, but he’d even taken the time to consider how to make it match the decor. It was an incredibly thoughtful gift, and Jemma felt bad that she hadn’t gotten him more. 

She brought the hand she’d been using to conceal his gift between them, and turned it over so he could see the box resting flat on her palm. “It’s not much,” she began, shifting from side to side and chuckling nervously, “certainly not as grand as your gift… actually, it seems rather self-serving now.” She glanced up at Fitz from beneath her lashes as she passed the box to him. “Well, you’ll see. Go on and open it.”

Fitz tore into the plain wrapping paper she’d used and then into the little box to find a key on a simple ring, and looked up at her, curious, for a long moment before he chuckled. “Well, no, tha’s actually sor’ o’ appropriate now, isn’ i’? I’m goin’ t’ need t’ get in while you’re no’ there t’ put the shelves in. Unless y’ want t’ be there while I’m drillin’ an’ hammerin’ things t’ anchor them t’ the walls.” The grin that split his face was wide and entirely amused. He hadn’t expected her to get him anything at all, really, and far preferred a gift that meant something rather than the easy route of buying something. Not for his best friend. 

Jemma giving him a key to her flat was another symbol between them. Especially after that scene with her parents, giving him open access to her space made him feel infinitely better, an unspoken reassurance that whatever her parents thought of him, Jemma wanted him around. He eyed the key for a moment and then went to fetch his own keyring, wedging his thumbnail into the groove between rings and sliding hers on with the few others - his own flat, two for school, two smaller ones for the mailbox and the lockbox in his closet, and now Jemma’s flat. He set them back in their tray by the door and rejoined Jemma at the table.

She couldn’t bring herself to watch Fitz directly as he opened her gift, her nerves over whether he’d like it preventing Jemma from doing much more than observing him from beneath her lashes as a blush spread over her cheeks. She was touched by how much he seemed to enjoy it, though, and her shoulders dropped back to their normal position as her lips curled upward once more. 

“I just thought that I’ve made such frequent use of your key,” Jemma explained, heartwarming as she watched Fitz place it on his own keyring, “that it was time I returned the favor.” Her flat was truthfully much closer to his school than his; if he had to work late into the night while she was on shift, it would be far simpler for him to just come to hers and wash up and take a quick nap than heading all the way back to Highgate. “Besides, of all the people I could hope to find randomly lounging in my flat, you’re at the top of the list, Fitz.” 

“I told y’ I migh’ start stoppin’ by an’ stealin’ your food, didn’ I?” Fitz laughed. “Y’ just made your fla’ fair game for my stomach. Or for naps during long days in the lab. A’ leas’ my place is out o’ the way - y’ have t’ make an effort t’ get up here and pop in for a visi’. Yours is awfully convenien’,” he said teasingly, dropping back into his chair and fiddling with the model of her future bookcases. 

He wasn’t expecting the warm rush of pleasure at her comment about wanting to find him randomly in her flat. The sensation of being wanted, of belonging in a place, was new for Fitz and part of why he was still sometimes so hesitant with her. The last thing Fitz wanted was to mess things up and lose the best friend he’d had in his life. It had only been a few months, but Fitz couldn’t imagine going back to being as alone as he’d been before. He hadn’t realized then how empty his life was, now he knew better. Swallowing hard, Fitz had to stop himself from falling quiet on her, realizing that. 

“I’ll star’ workin’ on them after New Year’s, if tha’ works for y’.”

“Sounds perfect,” she readily agreed, before settling in to spend the rest of the afternoon playing board games and chatting with her best friend. It was easily the best Christmas Jemma could remember having in ages.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the holiday season was rushed for her, between working and being dragged to a few holiday functions by her family, and Jemma felt as if she barely had time to sleep, let alone do anything for herself. In fact, the only thing letting her know Fitz was indeed alive were the text messages they still constantly exchanged, and she was beginning to miss seeing the curly haired Scot rather fiercely. 

He had asked her if she had plans for New Year’s Eve, but as she had been on shift, making any kind of plans was simply too difficult. They had left it like that, both of them vaguely disappointed at not being able to see each other, when it struck Jemma: she could show up and surprise him with breakfast the next day. Well aware of her friend’s clubbing habits, she was certain he would be hung over after a night out; what better way to recover, Jemma reasoned, than a hot breakfast the next morning?

That was how she found herself stumbling into Fitz’ flat at 10 am, arms laden with groceries. Once she managed to get everything situated in the kitchen, she peeled off her coat and glanced around. It was dead quiet in the flat; even the sound of Fitz snoring, which could usually be heard even through his shut door, was absent. 

Jemma gave a little shrug to herself and got to work. The smell of bacon and coffee would likely pull her friend from his bed in no time at all. 

Fitz was still asleep, despite the lack of snoring. He was just that far under that his breathing had deepened into a slow, steady pull and release from his mouth rather than rasping through his nose. That didn’t last long, however, once Jemma began clattering around in his kitchen, the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing clearly audible through the shared wall between his kitchen and bedroom. 

Hung over, grumpy, and not especially wanting company, Fitz dragged himself up from the bed, shirtless and rumpled and smelling of spent alcohol as he padded barefoot into the other room. “Chris’, Jemma, wha’ the hell are y’ doin’ over here this early?” he grumbled, leaning in the doorway and blinking blearily at her. “An’ is i’ really necessary t’ be tha’ loud?” Fitz added when two pans clanged together. 

Jemma jumped, startled first by Fitz’ voice and then by his ragged appearance, resulting in her knocking the two pans she was holding into each other. She blinked rapidly, attempting to process what she was seeing, but in the end still had to set the pans down on the cooktop, forcing her to take her eyes off of Fitz. 

Well, namely Fitz’ torso. 

His surprisingly well-toned torso. 

Jemma blinked again and shook her head to clear that line of thinking, but it still took her a good minute. She had only ever seen her friend in loose fitting jeans, baggy sweatshirts, and jumpers. She hadn’t quite realized just how broad his shoulders were, and despite all of the hugs she’d given him recently, she hadn’t imagined his abdominals were that well defined. Jemma turned the range on, and by the time she had adjusted the heat to where she wanted it, was better able to focus, thanks in large part to the stale scent of whisky that was clinging to him. 

“It’s ten, Fitz,” she retorted, looking pointedly between him and the clock above the range, “hardly all that early.” She rolled her shoulders and began unwrapping the bacon, taking the time to be careful with the white butcher’s paper, if only so she had a reason to not look at him. “And I just thought that if you were going to destroy your liver last night without me, I could at least help you recover today.” 

“Yeah, is 10 an’ I didna ge’ home until almos’ 6. Is too fuckin’ early,” he groaned. Fitz had been out too late and missed the last train, having to wait until the Underground started running again to get home. Taking a cab up to Highgate was prohibitively expensive. 

Oblivious to Jemma’s perusal and subsequent thoughts, he stepped into the room and peered into the bags of groceries, torn between being pleased that she was making a full English breakfast, or intensely nauseous at the idea of putting anything in his stomach yet. 

He glanced at the coffeepot, which was only just starting to percolate and sighed, “You’re jus’ goin’ t’ keep me up if I try t’ go back t’ sleep, aren’t y’?” At least if he stayed up there would be bacon and coffee. If he managed to keep them down. “I’m goin’ t’ get cleaned up.” 

She caught the longing glance Fitz sent in the direction of the coffee pot, and guilt lanced through Jemma. If he really was that tired and wasn’t feeling well, perhaps she should go home and let him recover in peace. Setting the bacon aside, she turned to face him, taking care to keep her focus trained on his sleepy blue eyes. 

“You know I haven’t started cooking yet.” She took care to speak softly, not wanting to make his headache worse, if he did indeed have one. “I could wrap this up and leave it for you to make later. Give you a few extra hours to sleep.” 

A part of Fitz really wanted to say yes, for Jemma to go on her way and him to crawl back into bed for a few more hours, but she’d come all the way up here and he hadn’t seen her in nearly a week. He’d missed her when he’d had time to think about it, between his project and going out, and he wanted to spend time with her. He just wasn’t in the best of shape to think too hard on it right now. 

“No. Is fine, lass… Jus’ keep i’ down, okay?” He slipped past her to get a glass, fill it with ice and then again with water, before draining it twice. He hadn’t hydrated as well as he should have last night. There hadn’t been much open in the wee hours, even on New Year’s Eve. “I’ll ge’ cleaned up while y’ cook. Take some paracetamol for the headache. See how i’ goes. I really migh’ have t’ crash later though. Three hours is no’ enough sleep.” 

Jemma cooked as quickly and quietly as possible, listening to the rattle of the rickety pipes as Fitz took a shower. He looked slightly better when he reappeared, curls damp and skin glowing, although his eyes still seemed sunken in, their usual bright blue dulled by his apparent hangover. 

She had managed to have the table set and food plated by then, and so it was just a matter of getting him to a seat, a large glass of water and mug of coffee (complete with enough sugar to choke a horse, just how he liked) set before him so he could put something in his stomach and hopefully counteract the lingering effects of the alcohol. 

Watching him like a hawk as she pressed through her own silent meal, Jemma noticed that while he ate some of the food, it wasn’t nearly as much as he usually did. Another pang of sympathy twinged in her chest; Fitz really was feeling under the weather. When it was evident that he wouldn’t, or rather couldn’t, eat anymore, Jemma shooed him over to his sofa, encouraging him to lie down as she tended to the kitchen. 

Only once everything was clean and put back in its proper place, the leftover food neatly packaged and deposited in his refrigerator, did Jemma take a seat near him. “Please tell me your night out was at least worth it,” she teased, now that Fitz seemed to be feeling slightly more human after coffee, “and that you met someone nice. Or at least cute.”

Fitz made it about halfway through his plate before the nausea caught up with him, stomach churning uneasily despite the medication and the extra water he’d put in before the coffee. He finally gave in to Jemma’s gentle suggestion to lay down, curling up on his side on one half of the big sectional sofa. The sounds of Jemma’s occupation of his flat weren’t quite as irritating this time, and Fitz let his eyes drift shut, breathing through the feeling that he needed to vomit. 

If it wasn’t for that, he wouldn’t be feeling terrible, just worn out, but the nausea was enough. After a while, silence fell and Fitz felt the cushions dip slightly under his head as Jemma sat in the corner of the couch by his head. “If things had gone tha’ well, do y’ think I’d be here alone?” he pointed out the disappointing lack of male company in his bed that morning. Granted, he could have picked someone up last night and brought them here or gone to theirs, but he’d been more interested in just… basking. 

Fitz had started going out as an exercise from his therapist, but he found that he honestly enjoyed it sometimes, being around people and out and doing things a normal 23 year old should be doing. He’d never gone out on a traditional party night like New Year’s Eve, and he’d been intent on taking it all in. 

Fitz’ tone was still grouchy, but seemed to have taken on a slightly more humorous edge. It was that hint that enabled Jemma to reach out and lightly ruffle his dark blonde curls, her nails scratching carefully across his scalp. She liked these little moments of affection, the kind she had always hoped she’d have with a good friend, but she wished Fitz were more open to them. He’d gotten better about her touching him, but there were times she’d notice him freeze or even shudder when she made contact. Jemma wondered if it had anything to do with what she’d seen in his medical file, and while she was itching to ask, held back. Now certainly was not the time to indulge her curiosity. 

Instead, she smiled softly down at the curled up figure of her best friend and considered possible responses. They had never spoken about their dating habits explicitly, but it hadn’t taken Jemma all that long to figure out Fitz’ usual routine. He’d go out, have fun, get a bit of a buzz going, and then pick up some guy if he felt like it. And while she couldn’t care less about who he slept with, the medical professional in her did know that alcohol and an untold amount of unfamiliar partners could lead to an increased risk for STIs. That did worry her, and she’d been trying her best to bring him around to her point of view without making him feel bad about his habits. 

“It’s not always about ending up in bed, is it? I mean, there are merits to actually getting to know someone, Fitz.”

He was miserable enough that the brush of Jemma’s fingers against his head didn’t bring the usual reaction, only a sense of comfort and affection. She was being gentle enough not to aggravate the lingering headache, which was a blessing in itself, and it felt good. Fitz pressed into the touch a little, letting out a soft, unconscious sigh. 

Jemma’s admonishment about taking someone home brought one shoulder up, shrugging almost defensively. “Datin’ is a lo’ of work. For wha rarely works out t’ be more than a awkward date or two,” he muttered. “Sex is less complicated.” Which was entirely true in his experience. All that cocky demeanor when he went out was bravado and a front to make himself more socially acceptable. Which made it difficult if he tried to date someone and either they wanted cocky Fitz - which he couldn’t keep up for long in a one on one situation without being a total arse - but got awkward, too smart for his own good Fitz. And since he didn’t connect easily with people, it just… Fitz’ lips pressed together, remembering several very awkward dates with guys he’d only seen in brief glimpses since. 

And it wasn’t that Fitz necessarily minded working at a relationship. He made an effort to keep up with Jemma, didn’t he? But Jemma also respected him and his time and listened and seemed mostly content with Fitz as he was and not how she wished he could be. Barring a few things that got on her nerves. Which, speaking of… Fitz twisted his head carefully to peer up at her, eyes still a bit dimmer than usual. “Thank y’ for breakfas’. An’ ‘m sorry I snapped at y’ earlier. ‘M no good t’ anyone when I’m this tired, much less hung over on top o’ i’.” 

Jemma wanted to push the issue a bit, but held herself back. She knew Fitz was convinced that his logic was absolutely sound and that trying to convince him otherwise while he was hung over and miserable would be an absolutely fruitless effort. Instead, she just passed her nails over his scalp once more and answered. “You’re welcome. I’ll be quieter next time. Or rather, I’ll just wait until I know you’ve already dragged yourself from bed before cooking. Although, that does take some of the surprise out of it.” The last bit was said with a little downturn of her mouth, a pout that Fitz missed in his pained state. 

She didn’t miss how Fitz sighed and shifted slightly into her touch once more, his weary eyes fluttering shut for half a beat. She gently withdrew her hand and reached for the throw blanket he kept at the far end of the sofa, haphazardly spreading it over him with one hand so she didn’t have to move from her spot. Satisfied that he was sufficiently covered, Jemma went back to play with his hair, murmuring, “Go to sleep, Fitz. It’s okay. I can let myself out.”

~*~

He began building her bookshelves a few days later, although Jemma wasn’t there to witness the initial construction. Rather, she saw the construction come together in bits and pieces, first the anchors, then the frame, a new bit appearing each morning like magic when she came in from her shift. Fitz had taken to working on the project after he was done at the lab, and while there were always new signs of progress, the engineer always took care to return her flat to its pristine state before he left at some ungodly hour. 

The Sunday after he began construction was her next night off, and found the two of them sitting cross legged on the bright blue floor of her flat, dressed in paint-spattered clothing as they picked at the remnants of a takeaway pizza and sipped at their beers. Fitz had just walked her through putting a base coat on the shelves, and they were waiting for it to dry before he could show her how to make the boards look appropriately weathered. 

“These look amazing, Fitz.” She took another pull on her bottle, eyes darting across the shelves appreciatively before glancing over at him. “The designs were amazing, but really didn’t do this justice. Thank you.” 

Fitz was tired after all the late nights that week and he’d planned on going home early, but when Jemma had asked if she could help with the painting and offered to pay for pizza and beer, he couldn’t resist. Besides, he hadn’t seen her since New Year’s Day. 

Tipping his head back against the mattress behind him, he looked up at the ceiling high overhead and shrugged. “Every time I come in here I always think those radiators are such a waste o’ space. Is a studio, y’ only have a bi’ o’ storage as i’ is, an’ those things take up a good eigh’ feet o’ wall space where y’ could have put a piece o’ furniture. With these ceilings, i’ makes sense t’ build up some. Y’ have room for i’.” 

He was a little uncomfortable that she kept thanking him - it was her Christmas present, after all. One thank you was more than enough. Getting up, he stepped toward the closest shelf and brushed his fingers over the wood to see if the sealant was nearly dry yet. Although new, the wood looked old already thanks to the gray-brown stain he’d soaked the boards in, emphasizing the pattern of the wood’s graining. They’d sand down the sealant in places and scuff others to make them look a little abused and then seal them again before calling the shelves finished. “Tha’ stain almos’ makes them look like drif’wood, doesn’t i’?” 

Jemma doubted that Fitz realized it, but there was a little bit of a glow to his features, pride in a well-designed plan that was well executed. She couldn’t blame him, really, given that in reality the bookshelves had far exceeded what he had sketched out on paper. Draining her own bottle of ale, Jemma reached over for his before pushing herself to her feet and coming to stand just to his right. 

“It does. I have no idea how you managed to find a color that matched the star so perfectly.” 

Jemma gave a slight nod toward her mantel, where a large five-point star made out of actual driftwood hung. Glancing between the two, she doubted anyone who didn’t know better could tell which was naturally weathered and which had been artificially so. A bubble of pleased giddiness rose in her chest and without thinking much of it, Jemma switched both of their empties to her right hand so she could throw her left arm around Fitz and gave him a small squeeze. 

She regretted it instantly, however, when she felt him shy away from the contact. The bubble popped, and   
Jemma felt her shoulders sink a bit as she pulled away, putting a few extra inches of air between herself and Fitz. That wasn’t the first time he’d pulled away from her; he’d always been rather awkward about contact, but she had figured it had to do with them not knowing each other all that well and that it would fade with time. However, it hadn’t, and she was beginning to get a sinking feeling that her usual habit of invading other people’s personal boundaries was pushing Fitz’ limits a tad too far. 

“Fitz, I-” Jemma coughed to clear her suddenly tight throat. “I was just wondering… does it bother you when I do that? Touch you, I mean.” His blue gaze flashed over, and she thought she picked up something more than just surprise beneath that particular look. “It’s just that, this isn’t the first time you’ve shied away when I’ve hugged you, and well, if it bothers you, I can stop.” 

Fitz wasn’t expecting Jemma’s little hug and stilled, his body instinctively shrinking away from the touch and resisting the pressure of his arm against her side. It had happened before, and he always hated it. He’d never been good about being affectionate, and was okay, if a bit stilted, when he deliberately touched someone, but being surprised always threw him. She’d never said anything though, so he glanced over at her, startled and dismayed when Jemma commented on it this time. 

“I, um…” Fitz stammered, his cheeks pink. He’d fooled himself into thinking she hadn’t noticed and never would. “Tha’s… a long story, lass. Is no’ abou’ you.” Sucking in a deep breath, he pushed back from the shelves and moved to pace Jemma’s room. “I assume y’ looked through my NHS file when I was in A&E?” 

The evidence there only pointed to him being a bit of a klutz in his younger days, but there was more if you knew to look between the lines. 

She eyed Fitz warily, watching as he began pacing. His movements reminded Jemma of the large cats at the zoo, the few that had enclosures that were far too small for them. He practically reeked of discomfort, and as she tracked his movements, his words sank in and it slowly began clicking into place. Really, she should have suspected it sooner, but it had just never occurred to her. 

The broken arm when he was a boy. 

The frequent hospitalizations when he was a young teen. 

The fact that he had a note in his file to call his psychologist as soon as he began exhibiting symptoms of distress, and refused to go back to Scotland, even during school holidays… Jemma cringed as she thought back through the file, and the ease with which he’d anticipated her questions that first morning they’d met. 

“It wasn’t just because your mother was a nurse that you were so familiar with hospital procedure, was it?” Jemma forced the question past her lips, torn between needing it confirmed and dreading the answer. 

He stayed quiet, letting Jemma put the pieces together for herself. Fitz knew her. He knew she went through the file of every patient she had, just to be sure she had as much information as she could and give the best care possible. He knew she’d seen his file - already far too extensive for someone his age - but Jemma also tended to believe the best of people. She would never have connected his sensitivity to touch to his medical history without a nudge. 

“Tha’ file would have been triple tha’ size if she hadna patched me up at home for everythin’ bu’ the worst injuries,” Fitz said softly. He risked a glance over at her and sucked in a breath. Jemma’s hazel eyes were huge and fixed squarely on him. “I only manage goin’ to the club because I expec’ someone to bump into me all the time. When someone unexpectedly touches or gets too close, I move. I canna help i’. I’ just happens.” Self-conscious and uncomfortable, his shoulder jerked up in an offhanded shrug and he resumed his nervous pacing. 

Jemma wasn’t prone to inexplicable rage or true acts of violence; she could swear up a storm when the urge struck, it was true, but she hesitated to actually follow through on any of her profanity-laced threats. However, she knew she’d make an exception for Fitz’ mother. The woman was a nurse, she was meant to help heal and protect, but instead she’d… Jemma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head a bit. What the woman had done as past, and for now all she could focus on was Fitz himself. 

Waiting for him to turn to face her, Jemma put herself squarely in the path of his pacing. The positioning forced him to look at her, and as she’d expected, Fitz froze as soon as he turned around, stopping a good foot away from her. She paused to search his eyes, wanting to be sure that he knew she wasn’t a threat to him, before slowly placing her hands on his shoulders. She paused again, giving her friend every chance in the world to stop her before she stepped into him, her arms wrapping about him loosely so he could escape if he felt the need. 

Fitz had stopped letting himself think too hard about the things his father had done to him long ago. Especially how little he trusted other people and how hard it was to let anyone in. Meeting and connecting with Jemma at the hospital of all places had been luck that he’d never dared to question. He knew she wouldn’t let this go - she couldn’t - and sure enough, she was there when he turned to make his way toward the windows again. 

His eyes met hers, blue against hazel, and even with the warning Fitz still stiffened under Jemma’s hands, unsure what she was thinking or what she wanted from him. Her arms looped around his neck, and even the loose hold was nearly too much. He’d never had someone hug him that way to know it would ping his nerves, and resisted the urge to draw back. Instead his hands found her arms, his body tense in her hold, and tugged gently. “No’ around my neck. Please,” he said in a pained whisper. 

His hands were warm through the thin cotton of her long-sleeved shirt, but Jemma could feel the slight tremor as he fought off his nerves. His tone cut to her core, breaking her heart, and she adjusted her hold on him, wrapping her arms around his waist and tucking herself against his slender frame. She could feel tears begin to well in her eyes, and nestled her chin against his shoulder so he wouldn’t see. Fitz didn’t need to worry about making her tear up, not now. She swallowed in an attempt to clear her vocal chords of any emotion before murmuring in his ear. 

“Of course, Fitz. Whatever you need.”

Grateful for her (nearly) silent understanding, Fitz gave a little shudder as the tension released and wrapped his arms around Jemma’s shoulders in return. It wasn’t often he was in a position to return her affection - Jemma was often patting his arm or giving him that same little half-hug that had startled him before - or even wanting to. This time he couldn’t help but cling a little, though. 

Fitz simply held on, for once not minding having someone so close. Something about Jemma’s quiet acceptance of his past made him want to hug her. He knew that for all her silence just now, the healer’s heart that beat in Jemma’s chest was horrified at what he’d just admitted to her, even without all the sordid details.

Jemma realized as she held him that this was the first time she had ever really felt Fitz return any physical sign of affection. No, prior to this he had always seemed to tolerate her touch, but now she could feel his fingers dig into her back and the muscles in his lithe arms strain as he clutched her as tightly as he would allow himself. She realized then that while he was clearly taking steps to care for his mental and physical health, he had likely entirely overlooked how healing simple touch could be. No wonder, since he hadn’t experienced many kind touches from his own family over the years. 

A sense of wonder and gratitude came over Jemma as they held each other, rocking slightly, in the middle of her flat. She was astounded that he had made it to adulthood, given what he’d gone through, and found herself thanking her lucky stars that Fitz hadn’t wound up dead, either accidentally as a result of abuse or by his own hand. The thought of a life without ever knowing him knocked her breathless and caused her tears to form faster than she could blink them away. She pressed on, though, and with her voice thick with tears, kissed his cheek and whispered, “Leopold Fitz, you are a wonder. And I am so, so lucky to know you.”

Jemma knew he’d be embarrassed, not only by her use of his full name but also by the sticky sentimentality behind her words, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was just that relieved to be able to hold her best friend. 

“Chris’ lass, dinna do tha’. I didna tell y’ so y’ could star’ the waterworks,” Fitz murmured, but he didn’t let go of her, either. “Is over. I have a life here an’ I dinna have t’ ever go back t’ Glasgow unless I want t’ go. Da can go ro’ in hell for all I care. Th’ only thing I regre’ is tha’ I couldna make myself go t’ school more often while I was hurtin’, or I’d have graduated early an’ been gone even before tha’. An’ despite everythin’, I never reported either of them. So dinna make me ou’ t’ be anythin’ more than I am,” he said in a rush, denying Jemma’s tearful words. 

She felt fragile in his hold, although thankfully not as terrifyingly broken as she’d been that first morning a month ago when she’d been so upset over her young patient. “Jem, is okay, really. Please stop cryin’.” 

Nodding and doing her best to regulate her breathing, Jemma kept her face hidden in Fitz’ shoulder for a few more minutes until she felt sure she had herself under control. She didn’t accept for a second what he said, that she shouldn’t be in awe and at least a little bit proud of him, clinging to those two sentiments as fiercely as she could. She’d always be proud of him for surviving that. 

When she felt calmer, and as though she could face him without bursting into tears once more, Jemma disengaged and murmured, “Excuse me,” before grabbing their rubbish and taking them to her tiny kitchenette. She took a moment to pass a damp paper towel over her face, and while she knew it did nothing to ease the redness or stinging in her eyes, the coolness on her heated skin was comforting. When she felt more herself, she returned to Fitz’ side and playfully bumped his shoulder with her own, trying to reassure him that she was indeed okay while simultaneously lightening the mood. 

“And here I thought the only awkward portion of the evening was going to be me trying to convince you to be my date for a gallery opening in two weeks,” she teased, the left corner of her mouth curling upward. “Guess I bollocksed that all up, no?”

Fitz hated that he’d upset her, but he also felt better knowing that she knew. He didn’t have secrets from Jemma, per se, only things that hadn’t come up before. He didn’t ask about her family - especially since that dinner - and she’d never asked about his after he’d mentioned he never went back to Glasgow. At some point he’d have to tell her the whole story, but he was nowhere near prepared for that to be tonight. Perhaps the night before an appointment with his therapist so he’d have some chance of dealing with the inevitable emotional fallout. And while very, very drunk. 

Her comment distracted him, along with the sight of her pink cheeks and reddened eyes. “Gallery opening?” Fitz said, startled, “Y’ want me t’ go with y’ t’ some fancy event thing?” His already knotted stomach made another twist of anxiety at the thought of navigating the social circles Jemma’s family associated with. 

Jemma looked away when his eyes went wide, a small bit of guilt needling her gut. She knew that Fitz was put off by her family, as well as their lifestyle, and that it was rather unfair to ask him to attend such a function, but she had just thought it’d be nice to have someone she actually wanted to talk to there for once. She usually attended these things alone, the few times her mother managed to pressure her into them, and it meant dealing with the usual rounds of, “Have you met my son?” and “Aren’t you brave living all alone!” 

It was selfish of her, but Fitz would act as a discouragement to those kinds of questions, at least somewhat. 

“A gallery opening in Shoreditch. Mum wants someone from the family to put in an appearance, and I’m the nearest to the event so, I win,” Jemma said in a rush with a note of false cheer. Seeing that it wasn’t working, however, she quickly tried another tactic. “It wouldn’t be more than an hour or two, Fitz, and there’s an open bar. We can huddle in the corner and pretend to look at the art as we drink. I just need to be there long enough that it gets back to my mother’s friends.” 

Jemma had grumbled and begrudgingly gone to events at her mother’s urging before, and he knew she hated it, but for him to go… “Are y’ certain is no’ goin’ t’ cause more problems if y’ show up with me? Your parents dinna like me, lass, an’ we both know i’.” It would be bad enough to pretend to be interested in the showing and polite to a bunch of upper-crust snobs, especially in a crowded space. Fitz didn’t want Jemma to have any more issues with her parents because of him on top of it. 

“Open bar or no’, is still… a thing,” he sighed. Of course he’d go, only because Jemma had asked and she rarely asked anything of him beyond time and attention. “Fine. I’ll go with y’ lass, bu’ y’ owe me big. Big.”


	7. Chapter 7

The following Friday, Fitz made his usual excursion to the club, showing up late in the evening and going through his usual routine. Since the night he’d been drugged, Fitz had changed his drinking habits, downing three shots of something - tequila, tonight - before losing himself on the dance floor and touching nothing else but water. The instant buzz from the shots would last him a few hours and he’d be mostly sober and very much lucid by the end of the night when everyone else was a mess. 

Anyone who wanted to buy him a drink could bring him a sealed bottle of water, and if they had a problem with that, too damned bad, they could move on to someone else. 

He hadn’t planned on picking anyone up, but a cute, well-muscled, dark-haired and green-eyed guy had sidled over to dance with him. That was all well and good and Fitz was having a good time, but when he whispered several rather filthy suggestions in Fitz’ ear, well, he was only human, right? Fitz invited him back to his flat without a second thought and hadn’t quite exhausted his supply of ideas before they were both too physically exhausted to act on them. 

The next morning he rolled over in bed, reaching, and was torn between relief and disappointment when the other half of his bed was empty. Except then he heard Jemma’s voice and brightened immediately. The thought of who she was talking to never occurred to him as he pulled his pants on, sleep- and sex-rumpled, fuzzy-haired and scruffy when he padded out to greet her. 

Fitz stilled when he turned the corner and found her talking to his… friend? He didn’t even know what he should call the guy, other than a fuckbuddy. He wasn’t even entirely sure he remembered his name. “Ahhh. Good mornin’,” he offered with an awkward little smile. 

I should really see when Fitz’ lease is up and ask if he’d ever want to get a flat, Jemma thought as she worked his key into the lock and let herself into his early Saturday morning. We’re with each other often enough as it is, a shared flat likely wouldn’t hurt. 

She was grinning, pleased at the idea of sharing a space with Fitz and having constant access to her best friend, when she nearly plowed into a young man, apparently headed back into the bedroom. Jemma took a step back, and once she allowed her gaze to look the surprised young man up and down, she had to fight to keep the lecherous grin off her face. 

Clad only in boxer briefs, Jemma could see that he was tanned and well-muscled from head to toe, with shaggy dark hair, emerald eyes and no tan lines that were visible to her gaze. Working to keep her expression neutral even as her own blush overtook her, Jemma extended a hand and gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m Jemma. How about you find your trousers and I put on a kettle?”

Jemma watched the man creep back into Fitz’ room after giving her a small nod and a grateful smile, and quickly moved to hang up her coat and bag before she began making tea. The man was incredibly fit, and she found she was torn between being proud of her friend and jealous that he had gotten lucky. She didn’t have long to ruminate on her own dismal luck in that department, as the man quickly reappeared, now dressed in fitted jeans and an undershirt that still allowed Jemma to admire his shoulders. 

“How do you take your tea?” she asked, careful to keep her voice quiet so as not to disturb Fitz. 

“Bit of sugar, no cream, please.” His voice was pleasant, slightly rough with lack of use and deep, seeming to come from the very pit of his stomach. Fitz really had hit the jackpot. She prepared his mug and handed it to him before picking up her own. She sipped carefully, hip propped against the countertop as she watched him over the rim of her cup. His shoulders were tense, and he kept glancing about, as if waiting for something to pop out at him. Eventually, he spoke again. 

“I’m sorry -- Jemma, was it? -- This is terribly awkward, I imagine, to come home to your flatmate’s one night stand. I’m Anthony… although I’m not sure whether knowing my name makes it better or worse.”

Jemma decided then and there that she liked him, and huffed out a small laugh. “No more awkward than having your one night stand’s friend walk in to find you in your boxers, I suppose. I’d consider us even.” 

That seemed to break the tension, and Jemma soon found herself chatting away with Anthony. She discovered that he was currently doing temp work and did personal training on the side, spoke fluent Portuguese, and was hoping to travel to China before he was 30. He was nice, and Jemma couldn’t seem to keep herself from wondering whether he and Fitz would make a cute couple. She thought the potential was there, and found herself telling Anthony about their plans for next Thursday. 

“You know, if you like art, Fitz and I were planning on--”

She was about to tell him when the sight of a shirtless Fitz, jeans unzipped and slung low on his hips, standing in the doorway made her swallow her tongue. Next to Anthony he looked average, but there was something about the sleepy, rumpled look of him that made a warm, pure wave of affection take root in her chest. 

“Good morning, Fitz,” she answered, voice soft. “Will you be joining us for tea, or did you want me to start breakfast?”

Fitz had never imagined this happening, Jemma meeting any of the men he brought home, and he was surprisingly both flustered and a little panicked. He knew she didn’t approve of his sexual habits, and he’d kept those two sides of his life strictly separated. Finding her casually chatting with… whatever his name was… had him all sorts of unsettled. Especially the way she seemed to have buddied up to him so quickly. That had an unpleasant stab of jealousy digging into his stomach as he stepped into the kitchen to make his own tea. 

He dropped a tea bag into a mug and added water from the kettle, setting it to steep before he glanced at the dark-haired man and then at Jemma. “We should probably get you on your way, so Jem an’ I can work ou’ wha’ we’re doin’ for breakfast,” Fitz said firmly. 

“Really, Fitz, it’s no trouble to cook for-”

Jemma was ready to offer to make breakfast for all of them when Fitz shot her a look, the hardness of his gaze turning the words to ash in her mouth. She had seen that look a handful of times before and knew that it meant he wasn’t in the mood to argue. As it wasn’t her guest he was kicking out, all Jemma felt comfortable doing was giving Anthony a small apologetic smile and shifting further away from the new man to give Fitz a bit more room to prepare his tea. 

Fortunately, Anthony seemed to take it in stride, nodding as an easy grin came to his lips. “Right. Not a problem. Let me just grab my things, and I’ll be going.” Good as his word, he drained his mug, set it in the sink, and hurried into Fitz’ room, emerging a few moments later fully dressed and coat in hand. He paused in the kitchen door, that same easy grin playing across his lips and green eyes flashing devilishly as they swept over Fitz. 

“Last night was fun. You know where to find me if you want to try a few of those things we didn’t get to. And Jemma,” he called, demeanor shifting back to purely friendly, “if you are serious about that club membership, let me know. My friend Anna works in billing and I’ll see if she can’t get you a discount.” With that and a small nod, they both watched Anthony swing himself into his coat and waltz out the door of Fitz’ flat. 

Jemma waited a few minutes, watching Fitz as he finished preparing and began drinking his own mug, before speaking. “That was rather rude. You didn’t have to be quite that brusque about pushing him out the door.” 

Fitz’ eyes cut over to her, startled. His nerves had only just started to settle, relieved to have the unknown element out of the situation and now Jemma was chiding him for his behavior. “I don’ even know him, lass. I’m no’ worried abou’ his feelings gettin’ hurt. He picked me up, we had a good time, is mornin’ now an’ tha’s tha’. If y’ had no’ come by, I’d have nudged him on his way jus’ as fas’.” 

He never kept his partners around for breakfast or any couple-ish sort of morning after behavior. Unless it was more sex, but that was rare. Usually Fitz wanted his flat to himself, to be alone to settle. If he’d gone elsewhere, he’d put his earbuds in and make his way back to his flat and shut himself in. Either way, there was never anything to give any hint that there might be something between him and his partner other than what had already happened.

“Besides,” Fitz tried for honesty, hoping it didn’t come off glib, “I dinna like havin’ t’ share my time with y’. I wasna expectin’ t’ get t’ see y’ this weekend.” One of the other doctors in A&E was on emergency leave and Jemma had picked up extra hours to help cover for the absence.

She was proud of herself for holding back the rather unlady like snort that was dying to make itself known. Jemma settled for rolling her eyes and shaking her head instead as she began to clean up the mugs she and Anthony had used. In truth, while she wasn’t thrilled with the way he got his kicks, part of her admired Fitz for being able to go out and get what he wanted. Particularly when what he wanted came in tall, dark, and handsome male packages. 

Jemma sighed as she glanced at her best friend, who was watching her as he sipped his own tea and apparently tried not to pout. She supposed it was sweet, in a way, that he wanted to see her that badly, and the little girl that she had been, awkward and friendless, beamed at him as she jumped for joy. Finished with the few dishes that had been in his sink, Jemma dried her hands on a tea towel and went to stand before him, still shaking her head a bit even as she pulled him in for a hug. 

Leo Fitz, jealously guarding their time together from his hookups. Bless his heart. 

~*~

It was early in her shift on Monday when her mobile rang, pulling her concentration from the admissions paperwork of one Mrs. Geraldine Jones, who had apparently seen fit to heat her flat (which, she had assured Jemma was “frigid as the Devil’s bollocks”) with her gas oven, resulting in her passing out. Fortunately her neighbor had been by to check on her, but that was as far as Jemma had gotten when her mother demanded her attention. 

“Hello?”

“Jemma, darling,” her mother’s saccharine tone practically oozed through the phone, putting Jemma on high alert. She only ever heard that tone when her mum was after something, and suspected Jemma would resist. “You know that little event you’re going to on Thursday? The one in Shoreditch?”

“Yes, Mum, I’m well aware. I have the night off and everything. Is there a reason why you’re calling? I’m on shift and-”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get to it. You remember the Woodwards? You know, your father’s friend from school?”

Jemma licked her lips, struggling to control herself. She really didn’t like where this was going. “Yes, Mum, I remember. What about them?”

“Well, their son, William, just moved to London, and he’s looking for a way to get familiar with the city. Would you take him with you Thursday night? I know you usually like to attend alone, but I jus-”

“Actually, Mum,” she cut in quickly, wanting to avoid yet another one of her mother’s set-up attempts, “I was planning on using that plus one. I have a date.” She winced a bit as she lied, knowing full well her mother would know Fitz wasn’t an actual date if his name got back to her. Still, she’d much rather spend the evening getting drunk and looking at modern art with him than any one of the stuffy sons of her parents’ friends. 

“Jemma Catherine Simmons, you and I both know that Scottish friend of yours isn’t an actual date. Take William, see how he’s settling into the city, and be done with it. Your father needs you to do this; he needs the elder Woodward to help bankroll some investment scheme his company is pushing. Do help out, will you?”

It was phrased as a request, but Jemma knew that her mother’s tone gave no room for argument. “Fine, Mother,” she sighed into the phone. “Give me his number. I’ll get a hold of him and set this up.”

That settled, and more than a bit annoyed, Jemma stared at her mobile for a minute before picking it up again and punching in speed dial 2. She hated to cancel on Fitz, but at least he hadn’t wanted to actually go to this thing in the first place.

~*~

Fitz hadn’t exactly been unhappy about his unexpected reprieve from accompanying Jemma to the opening, but Mrs. Simmons high-handed assumption that she could make Jemma dance to her tune - and worse, Jemma allowing it - made him grit his teeth. For as bubbly and bright as Jemma could be, she had trouble with small talk sometimes, especially if she was nervous, and who knew anything about this William character? 

(Fitz did, actually. He’d looked the guy up as soon as he’d hung up the phone with Jemma, curious who Mrs. Simmons was setting her daughter up with. Because really, “showing him around town”? That was such a blatant setup he couldn’t believe Jemma thought this would only be a onetime thing.) 

Still, she’d promised to hold to their plans to go out for a late dinner after the showing and told him to stop over at her flat around 10, estimating she could attend the 7pm showing, spend two hours, and get home and changed by then. Fitz let himself into Jemma’s building and then her flat at 9:50, calling her name as he shut the door behind him, only to skid to a halt at the scene before him. 

The photos online hadn’t done William Alexander Woodward the Third justice. Fitz did have a moment of ‘fuck, he’s pretty’, as William and Jemma stared at him from across the room, him in irritation and Jemma in shock, and it was clear that he’d interrupted a heavy snogging session. Jemma’s hair was a wreck, half-loosened from its pins, her deep blue dress rucked up high on her legs and her lips swollen from kisses. There was already a red mark marring the fair skin on her neck. William wasn’t as obviously affected, but Jemma had gotten his tie half off and a button or two undone. 

“I, um… Yeah. Nevermin’,” Fitz gritted out, both embarrassed and a bit disappointed. “Sorry t’ interrup’. Jemma, I’ll call y’ tomorrow.” He backed out of the room, misjudging the distance, and came up hard against the door. He was just fumbling with the knob when Jemma’s voice rang out, making him hesitate.

“Shite, sorry,” she murmured, disentangling herself from William’s arms and standing from the sofa to call out to him. “Fitz! Wait! Don’t go, I mean it. William was on his way out.” She glanced to her date, allowing herself a moment to admire the way his shoulders filled out his dress shirt before he hid them beneath his sport coat as he stood. 

He was a good six inches taller than her, something Jemma found particularly thrilling as she smiled up at him. William’s grey eyes were disappointed, but resigned, and while she found a bit of guilt tugging at her for the way she was putting him out, Jemma reminded herself that she had warned him about her plans with Fitz before she’d invited him inside. It wasn’t as if she’d allowed him to get any ideas about how far the evening would go. 

“Dinner tomorrow?” William murmured, invading her personal space as he did so and glancing at Fitz, still in the doorway. “I’ll call you during the day to make arrangements?”

Jemma swallowed and nodded. “Sounds perfect,” she acquiesced before her breath was cut off by his leaning down to capture her mouth in one more, quick kiss. He tossed her another smirk as he pulled away, evidently pleased by her dazed expression, before tugging his coat from her coat tree and brushing past Fitz in the doorway. Jemma took a moment to gather her wits and gave Fitz a tiny, slightly embarrassed smile. 

“Sorry about that, we, er, lost track of time. Give me five minutes to change and brush out my hair and then we can go, all right?”

Fitz eyed the pair of them as William climbed up from the couch, noting the other man’s definite interest in his best friend and scowling. Jemma wasn’t him, didn’t have the ability to just shag someone and walk away and he was torn between being embarrassed and being glad he’d interrupted. He smirked at the other man’s expression as he pushed past Fitz, sobering when he caught Jemma’s shy expression. 

“Take your time, lass,” he shrugged. “Is already late. An’ extra ten or twenty minutes will no’ make a difference.” They had a few favorite haunts that kept late night hours. The question was whether they wanted pub food or an actual meal. Fitz settled onto Jemma’s chair, feeling rather odd about sitting on the couch after what it had just been privy to, and waited patiently while Jemma bustled about changing and cleaning up. “Had y’ thought abou’ where t’ go?” 

Shucking out of her dress in favor of a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a comfortable white jumper, Jemma set about straightening her makeup and hair, first taking care of where her eyeliner had smudged before taking off what little remained of her lipstick. She was working on getting all of the pins out of her hair and brushing it back into a ponytail when Fitz’ voice rang out. 

“There was next to no food at the gallery,” she called back as she inspected her reflection in the mirror, “so I wouldn’t mind something a bit heartier. How do you feel about that Italian place a few blocks away?” She came out of the bathroom, glancing around for her wallet before allowing her eyes to land on Fitz. She was a bit nervous to meet his gaze, worried about what he’d think of her after what he’d seen, although she wasn’t certain of how much he had seen, or if he’d noticed just how far beneath her skirt William’s hands had been. 

Blushing anew at the memory, Jemma looked away as she muttered, “I’m ready if you are.” 

“Tha’s fine with me. Y’ know how I am abou’ food,” he reminded her. If it was a variety of food he was mostly familiar with, Fitz would eat just about anything. It was things with unfamiliar ingredients he was wary of. Certain cultures liked flavor combinations that just didn’t sit well on his tongue. “Italian sounds good.” They’d gone to the restaurant before and been more than pleased. 

Jemma wandered from her closet into the bathroom and eventually back out to join him, dropping onto the bed and Fitz grinned, finally relaxing when he saw she was back to being ‘his’ Jemma. The dress she’d had on was gorgeous, but that was never the Jemma he knew. Not the one who made herself at home in his flat or cried when she lost a patient. Knowing William had been rather too close to peeling it off of her set off all his protective instincts. 

Like a big brother, he wanted to be sure that she didn’t get herself burned, playing with the rich-boy solicitor that her parents wanted her to be with. 

Finally seeing his grin was a relief, and Jemma felt herself settle back into a familiar role. She could go back to just being his best friend, and not a girl who’d been caught snogging on her sofa. She pushed off of her mattress and approached Fitz, holding a hand out to him so he could more easily rise from the chair. 

“Let’s get going, then,” she said, hauling him up to stand beside her. After having William tower over her all night, being able to look Fitz in the eye without craning her neck was a relief. She grabbed her coat from the rack and held the door open, letting him out before turning to lock the door and following him onto the street. Once they were out of her building, Jemma stepped in close and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked. 

“So...any thoughts on him?” She knew it could potentially sound like bragging, but in truth she wanted his honest opinion. She’d noticed that Fitz could be biased, and would readily admit as much, but she still valued his opinion above all others. 

Fitz missed a step when Jemma latched onto him, but quickly caught himself and continued on toward the restaurant. His stupid instincts were still skewed, even when it came to Jemma. Maybe especially when it came to Jemma, because she so often touched him without thinking. 

“Was I supposed t’ have an opinion? We didna even speak, lass,” Fitz pointed out, his brows drawn together. “I mean, he’s awfully pretty, bu’ tha’ doesna necessarily mean much.” Personally, he’d chased a couple of the pretty ones when he’d first started going to the club every week, and he’d found they were usually the most selfish gits out there. William reminded him strongly of them - the ideal tall, dark and handsome, with chiseled cheekbones and a body to match. 

He shrugged one shoulder and glanced over at Jemma, one eyebrow lifted in question “Are y’ plannin’ t’ see him again? Since tonigh’ clearly wen’ well? Dinna think I didna notice where his hands were, lass.” That bit actually made him want to growl a bit, knowing Jemma wasn’t all that experienced and here William had been slick enough to get Jemma to let him get that far on the first - practically blind! - date. 

Her smile dropped when Fitz admonished her, leaving Jemma feeling a bit like she had when her headmaster had caught her snogging her boyfriend in the back of the chapel: thoroughly embarrassed. Keeping her gaze trained on the ground before her under the guise of watching for icy patches, Jemma cleared her throat and answered, “Yes. He asked me to dinner tomorrow night. Said he’ll call during the day tomorrow to solidify plans.”

They had reached the restaurant as they spoke, and Jemma tugged open the door, nudging Fitz in before her. “Hi, two please,” she told the hostess with a smile before following her to a small table near the kitchen. She tugged off her jacket, hanging it over the back of her chair and settling in across from Fitz. She toyed with the menu, fingers fiddling with the edges and teeth set in her lower lip. 

“You think I’m making a mistake, don’t you?”

Fitz peeled out of his own winter gear and was glad that he looked at her before he answered. Jemma was definitely nervous, wary of his answer, and he paused to consider his words before he said anything else. “I dinna know if I’d say is a mistake. I jus’ dinna want t’ see y’ get hurt. He looks like he’s a few years older than y’ an’ I’d be’ quite a bit more experienced.” 

He took a long moment to look over the menu, debating his dinner options before he continued by saying, “If you end up together an’ you’re happy, then I’m happy for y’. I’ve go’ no place t’ be tellin’ anybody who t’ date, given my record.” 

Jemma smiled, soft and genuine, when she heard his tone. Fitz was clearly suspicious of William, much in the way she imagined an older brother would be. While a tiny part of her was annoyed and wanted to remind him that she was a grown woman, older than he was in fact, and had had adult relationships before, that impulse was overruled by the part of her that was deeply pleased that he was willing to show he cared. 

Finally feeling settled, Jemma turned her attention to the menu, intent on having a pleasant meal with her best friend.


	8. Chapter 8

Pain ripped through her abdomen, causing Jemma to double over as she tried to ride it out. She had taken pain relievers, had tried to use a heating pad, had even sat in a hot shower for the better part of an hour, but none of the usual remedies had worked. She was in pain, alone in her flat, and miserable. There was only one solution that she could see. 

She needed Fitz. 

When it had subsided long enough for her to stand, Jemma gathered the things she would need for work, threw them into her largest handbag and proceeded to make her way to the Underground, tapping out a text to Fitz as she walked. 

Fitz [14:25]: In pain and miserable. Can I hide at yours for a bit before my shift?  
Fitz [14:26]: And could I possibly convince you to bring beef pad thai?  
Fitz [14:26]: And some chocolate peanut butter ice cream?

Fitz scowled at the beaker in front of him, looking from it back to his projections and swearing under his breath. There’d been an 80% chance of the result he wanted and 20% this, and of course he got the wrong bloody one. He was in the midst of typing an email to a colleague in the chemistry department when his phone buzzed. Fumbling it out of his back pocket, he frowned at the series of messages from Jemma before clicking in to create a reply. 

Jemma [14:29]: Of course. Are you okay?

It took another minute or two before Fitz wondered why she was going to his flat. She knew he was in the lab today, and he was much closer to hers than his own. 

Jemma [14:31]: I could have brought that stuff to your place.  
Jemma [14:32]: I’ll be there in a bit. Make yourself at home. 

He took a photo of his unexpected result and attached it to the email before sending it off and cleaning up his bench. There was nothing else he could do this afternoon now, except paperwork, but it was really unlike Jemma to admit to not feeling well and that had him worried. From her requests, he could pretty well guess what the problem was, but he didn’t want to assume either. Jemma had never shown any of the stereotypical signs before, and certainly never told him when she was on her period, so he’d never paid much attention. 

Fitz always figured if she needed something, she’d ask. And she had, this time. 

When he got to his flat, juggling bags from one hand to the other to unlock the door, Fitz belatedly realized she might be sleeping - she never answered his texts - and caught the door just before letting it slam behind him. The curtains were drawn, leaving the room dim and shadowed, and there was a lump of blankets on one half of his couch. Fitz could just see the top of Jemma’s head under one of the heavy folds, and he set the bags down before approaching her. 

“Jemma?” he called softly, carefully sitting near her, worried by the lack of movement or acknowledgement of his presence. Fitz thought he heard a faint sniffle, and reached to push the blanket down and her hair back so he could see her face. “Hey. Wha’s wrong, baby girl? You okay?” 

Eyes shut tight against the pain, which had now become more of a constant ache that seemed intent on bisecting her just below her stomach, Jemma heard the door open but couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. For some reason that defied all medical logic, keeping her eyes screwed shut made her feel better, and so that’s how she stayed, curled up under as many of Fitz’ blankets as she could manage. The weight and the warmth helped a bit, but she still felt miserable. 

She whimpered a bit when she felt his weight dip the cushion below her head, and turned to press her face into the throw pillow she’d been using, away from the light, when he shifted the blankets away. “It just bloody hurts, Fitz,” she explained, leaning into his soft touch. He initiated touch so rarely that despite her discomfort, Jemma took a moment to relish it. “It never hurts this much,” she finished lamely, despising the bit of a whine that came into her tone. She was a big girl, she could handle her menses usually, but today… today she just needed coddling. 

Jemma shifted closer to Fitz, using his leg to prop her head a bit higher on the pillow and forced herself to look up at him. His brow was slightly furrowed, blue eyes concerned. The expression pulled a smile from her; for all of his grouching, the Scot could be an absolute sweetheart when he put some effort into it. 

Her movement brought a whiff of food to her nose and her expression turned hopeful as she looked up at him. “You brought food?”

Fitz winced at her tone. Jemma wasn’t a whiner or a complainer, and if she was hurting enough to show it this much, it had to be pretty bad. He idly ran his fingers over her hair, brushing the strands back from her face and noting the dampness at her temples. Whether that had been sweat from hiding under the pile of blankets or from gritting her teeth against pain, it still made him worry that much more. The turn of her head brought her cheek almost into his palm and Fitz hesitated before leaving it there instead of drawing back, distracted by her expression. “Well, yeah. Y’ asked for pad thai. An’ ice cream. Bu’ I also go’ those ginger biscuits y’ like. Y’ want t’ try an’ sit up?” 

She nodded and Fitz moved to help her sit up properly, resettling the blankets over her lap and frowning at her appearance. Jemma was paler than usual, a little gray around the edges and looked exhausted. “Maybe y’ should call in tonigh’, Jem. If you’re feelin’ that bad, bein’ on your feet all nigh’ is no’ goin’ t’ help,” he suggested as he went to put the ice cream in the freezer and then bring her the carton of pad thai and a fork. 

He handed hers down and then settled next to her with his own carton of beef curry, falling silent until she wanted to talk. 

He’d gone to their favorite place, a little hole in the wall near Imperial College, and if she hadn’t been focused on pushing back her discomfort in favor of eating, Jemma would have hugged Fitz tightly about the middle. As it was, she pressed herself against him, shoulder to shoulder, desperately wanting the human contact and heat he offered. She made it through a few mouthfuls before she felt comfortable speaking.

“Thank you,” she mumbled around a mouthful of noodles and beef, “this is exactly what I needed.” She chewed and swallowed before turning her head to look at Fitz, and stifled a giggle. She’d caught him just as he’d brought a mouthful of his own meal up from his carton, and the sight of the chopsticks protruding and his cheeks puffed a bit was just absurd enough to brighten her mood.

“I can’t call in tonight, as much as I wish I could,” she replied, digging back into her own carton with her fork. “Cynthia’s still out, caring for her mum, and we’re short staffed as it is. I’ll find a way to make it through.”

Fitz sighed. Jemma hadn’t called in even once in the months since he’d met her; he should have known she wouldn’t now. “Alrigh’, i’ was jus’ a thought,” he conceded, although he had a feeling she was going to be miserable by the time she got off shift. With any luck someone would send her home early once things quieted down in the wee hours. 

In the meantime, she didn’t have to be in South London until 8, and it was only 3:30. “What d’ y’ want t’ do when you’re done eatin’? I can clear out or do some work if y’ want t’ take a nap,” Fitz offered. He idly wondered if his worry was making him fuss too much. He didn’t want to overstep, but he also had the urge to take care of her. And since he’d never had anyone he wanted to take care of before, Fitz was almost as awkward at it as he was about touching people. 

Jemma could feel her eyes go wide with panic at the idea of him leaving her alone, despite knowing how foolish that reaction was. She was still achy, but sitting and chatting with Fitz had at least taken her mind off her pain to the point where she could focus on other things.

“No, please don’t,” she blurted, cheeks going a bit pink with her outburst. “Could we just watch a movie or something? Something funny, so I don’t have to think or focus too much on the plot?” The entire point of coming to his flat had been to surround herself with Fitz; as much as she liked her home, there was still too much of her mother’s decorating in it, leaving the place feeling a bit too formal. Here, with him, she could relax and feel like herself, cushioned in Fitz’ plush sofa as she soaked in the feel of him. That was what she wanted, needed, to feel better.

“Hey, shh. I willna go if you’re goin’ t’ stay up,” Fitz soothed, startled by the tone of her voice. He reached for the remote, turning the TV on and getting into file explorer for the hard drive he’d connected to it. “Here,” he said, handing the remote over and getting up to straighten things, “Pick what y’ want t’ watch.” Fitz handed Jemma the bag of sweets and then vanished into his room to change. If they were going to be lounging around watching movies, then he was going to be comfortable. 

Coming back out in his pajama pants and a soft jumper, he hesitated for a moment, debating. Jemma looked miserable and he wanted to hug her, but his own sensitivity to it made him wary of touching others without permission. It was easier when Jemma initiated things, or at least asked first, so he knew it was okay. It actually would have been easier to hug a stranger. Fitz’ cockiness in public, especially when at the club, was only because it didn’t matter if he scared someone off. They were all strangers in a world full of them. Jemma was different. 

Fitz ended up settling back into the corner of the couch where the cushions were deepest and patting the space next to him. “C’mere, Jem. If y’ want, I mean… an’ bring the blankets?” He was gratified when she crawled over, dragging the blankets with her, although her usual grace was definitely missing. Catching her wince when she turned to sit, Fitz stilled her when she tried to fuss with the blankets. “Stop tha’. I’ve go’ i’,” he chided, “Y’ dinna have t’ do everythin’ yourself.” 

By the time he got the blankets arranged, Jemma’s head had found its way onto his shoulder and her legs were draped over his lap. Fitz’ mouth twisted, considering where to put his arms, and finally settled them in their natural positions, one draped over her legs and the other wrapped around her back. 

Typically for Jemma, the old adage about doctors making the worst patients held true. She hated to feel overly coddled, particularly for something as trivial as menstrual cramps, but she gave in to Fitz' gentle admonishment and concerned blue gaze. She quickly realized that there was an unforeseen benefit to draping herself across Fitz the way she had: heat.

The warmth she'd been seeking beneath his various throw blankets was easily tripled now that she had Fitz with her. He was a human radiator, and Jemma felt herself slouch into his slender frame as all of her muscles relaxed simultaneously. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as she made herself comfortable. 

"Monty Python, sweets, and warmth," Jemma mumbled into the collar of Fitz' jumper, listing everything he'd provided for her thus far, "practically perfect care kit for this kind of thing. I don't suppose you have a self-heating massage machine somewhere in all of your personal designs, hmm?" She gave him a tired, yet good humored, smile. "Because that on my lower back would put this over the top."

Fitz couldn’t see it, but he could hear the little smile and the faint amusement in her voice. “No, sorry,” he chuckled. “I could probably come up with one, but i’ would take a few days, an’ by tha’ time y’ probably willna need i’.” He relaxed once she did. It wasn’t that Fitz didn’t like cuddling; he did, but he sort of needed to be eased into it. This was good, having Jemma curled up with him, although he found himself distracted from the movie by her comment. 

“So, this migh’ be a stupid question,” he said, biting his lip. Which was true, but he’d never had a close enough female friend to have to deal with this before and he was pretty sure Jemma would forgive him for being sort of clueless. “Bu’... your back hurts? Isn’ tha’.... Is tha’ normal? I would have though’ i’ would be th’ other side givin’ y’ troubles.” 

Smiling, Jemma forced herself to hold back a small chuckle. She wasn’t laughing at Fitz or his lack of knowledge regarding these particular feminine issues, not in the least. She was just amused, and truth be told found it sweet in a way, that he had stopped to contemplate why she was hurting and what that might mean. But he wouldn’t know that, and so, Jemma took a moment to school her reaction.

“It varies from woman to woman,” she began, shifting slightly so she could both glance up at him and have a better angle on the TV, “but pain radiates, and for me it’s worst in my lower back.” She shrugged and held his gaze, wanting to calm the bit of concern she saw there. “Every few months, they get this bad. I promise, it’s relatively normal. I’ll survive it, with a bit of chocolate,” she held up the sweets bag and offered it to him, “and maybe a nice warm bath when I get home from work tomorrow.”

Fitz took in that particular bit of information and let it settle with his mostly abstract knowledge of women’s issues. It seemed odd to him, but Jemma didn’t seem especially concerned beyond the fact that it was making her uncomfortable so he let it go. Well, sort of. 

He almost talked himself out of the idea as he dug into the bag, opening the smaller containers of ginger biscuits and chocolates. By the time he’d eaten a second piece though, Fitz had made up his mind, and when he put his arms around Jemma again, it was with one hand set low on her back. “Does havin’ someone rub your back help any? Or is i’ just irritatin’?” Fitz asked quietly. 

He hated seeing her this miserable, and now that his initial nerves about sitting here like this had eased, he was less concerned about further touching than he would have been otherwise. His hand was already right there, giving her a backrub didn’t seem like such a big deal now.

Jemma felt her eyes go a bit wide with surprise before she managed to school her features into something akin to her standard expression. Ever since their talk, Jemma had tried to be more aware of the ways she touched him, taking care to give Fitz every opportunity to know what she was planning and to move away if he wanted, and it hadn’t taken keen powers of observation to realize that he never initiated contact. He’d accept it, but not claim anything for himself, something that tugged at Jemma’s heart. If anyone could benefit from being used to exchanging kind, loving touches without any agenda behind them, it was Fitz. 

His hand on her lower back radiated warmth, even through the thick winter weight jumper she was wearing, and Jemma reflexively arched back into Fitz’ touch. “They’re not irritating at all,” she said with an encouraging nod and smile, “and they help quite a bit.”

“Alrigh’. Jus’... le’ me know if is bothersome, okay?” Fitz carefully rubbed Jemma’s back, but it didn’t take more a minute to know that it was near impossible with her sweater in the way. That made him hesitate, but he sucked in a nervous breath and slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt the next time the thick wool rode up on her back. The first few seconds he froze, startled at the warmth and softness of her skin under his fingers, but steeled himself and went back to what he’d been doing, rubbing a pattern of circles over her lower back. 

He waited for Jemma to make some sort of protest, but she only let out a little hum of what might have been contentment. Fitz couldn’t see her face with the way she’d tucked in against his shoulder, so he had to trust she would say something if she wanted him to stop. 

Jemma settled her head back onto his shoulder, feeling content when Fitz began to run his hand along her lumbar. That satisfaction quickly faded, however, when she realized her jumper only got in the way. She was ready to suggest he move it out of his way, or even better, just lift it up herself, when she felt his fingers brush against her bare skin. 

The calluses that decorated his hands provided a surprisingly soothing counterpoint to the gentle touch he was using, pulling a happy little hum from Jemma’s throat as she nestled in a little closer to Fitz and tugged the blanket up over her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut, and before long, between the constant low murmur of the television and the steady rubbing of Fitz’ hand on her back, Jemma fell into a relaxing sleep.

Fitz thought she was just being quiet. It wasn’t until he went to move his arm and she nearly lolled back off his shoulder that he realized she was not only asleep, but deeply under. Figuring he could stay put through the end of the movie, at least, Fitz settled back a little deeper into the cushions to finish watching, only to drift off himself. 

Hours later, the insistent buzz of his phone in his pocket woke Fitz, only to find he’d fallen asleep with Jemma. At some point, somehow, he’d managed to twist himself around to face Jemma, pinning her between himself and the back of the couch, with her smaller body cradled against his chest. Carefully digging his phone from his pocket to see an email alert, he also noted the time and swore under his breath. It was already after 7 and if Jemma didn’t get moving, she’d be late to work. The ride from his place down to London Bridge was a half hour on its own. 

“Jemma,” he called, trying to wake her. “Jem. Hey. Is time t’ get up. Y’ have t’ go t’ work… C’mon, dinna make me shake y’. I hate tha’...” Fitz eventually had to resort to that though, trying to wake her gently enough that she wouldn’t startle out of sleep. He hated when that happened to him, he wouldn’t deliberately do it to anyone else. “Wake up, baby girl,” he murmured, shaking one more time. 

Jemma groaned, resisting the pull of the sleep-roughened voice in favor of ducking her face down into something that was warm and soft, yet solid, beneath her cheek. All she really wanted was to give herself over to sleep, and since she felt so safe and warm here, she saw no reason why she should wake up. Still, the voice insisted, its owner even going as far as to shake her, and Jemma was forced to relent. 

She blinked herself awake enough to realize that the voice belonged to Fitz, and that she was comfortably trapped between his slender form and the back of his sectional. His pet name for her also didn’t go unnoticed, and Jemma gave a sleepy little smirk before hiding against his chest once more, shielding a large yawn. 

“This is new,” she muttered as she brought her chin up once more and looked at him through sleep-hazed eyes. “New and comfortable. I like it. What time is it, even? How long was I out?”

Fitz blushed at her comment. He was rather comfortable, too, but he also knew she needed to go. Jemma was too stubborn to take the night off like she probably should. He ran his hand over her hair, feeling amused, but also warmly affectionate, by the way she was hiding against him but he made himself draw back and into a sitting position close beside her. “Tha’s why I woke y’. Is after 7, lass. Y’ have t’ get goin’.”

“It’s WHAT?!” 

Jemma’s head shot up from where it had fallen to the cushions, and she propelled herself off of the sofa, shooting around the coffee table and making her way to where her bag was sitting. She dug into it, and finding her mobile, clicked the power button to see the time. 

7:13. 

“Shite,” Jemma muttered as she tore through the rest of her bag, searching for her scrubs. Finding them, she yanked upward, scattering various bits and bobs across his dining room table before she scurried into the bathroom to change. She emerged a few minutes later, scrubs on and hair sloppily pulled back and damp around the hairline from where she’d splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to wake up. Rushing, Jemma threw every bit of her belongings that were in eye sight back into her purse, and threw on her coat before turning back to press a brisk kiss to Fitz’ cheek. 

“Fitz, thank you for everything. I’m sorry to run like this, but I’ll be late otherwise. I’ll text you later, okay?”

With that, she was out the door and into the cold London night, running for the Underground. 

It wasn’t until an hour after her shift started, when she tried to check out a medcart from the hospital pharmacy, that Jemma realized her key card was missing. She had her badge, the one that let security know she was authorized to be in the building and in certain wards, but her key card let her check out medicines and authorize treatments without having to circumnavigate everything through the head of the residents’ program. Being without it didn’t prevent her from doing her job, but it certainly made her job that much more difficult. 

And tonight, Jemma wasn’t in the mood for difficult. 

With a sigh, she pulled her mobile from the pocket of her lab coat and pulled up the conversation between herself and Fitz. 

Fitz [21:19]: I’m an idiot. I think I left my key card on your dining room table.   
Fitz [21:19]: It’s grey-ish plastic, about the size of a credit card.   
Fitz [21:20]: I don’t suppose you could check and see if it’s there?   
Fitz [21:21]: And if it is, I don’t suppose the promise of a home cooked meal could convince you to bring it to me?

Fitz was in the middle of showering and getting ready to go out and didn’t look at his phone for a bit. When he did, he let out a little snort and shook his head before tapping in a reply. 

Jemma [21:49]: You’d cook for me anyway.

He started looking around then, and finally found the card under the table near where her bag had been. Jemma must have dropped it when she’d tugged everything out to get at her scrubs and missed picking it back up with the rest of her things. 

Jemma [21:54]: I’ve got it.  
Jemma [21:54]: You need a better bribe to get me to bring it to you, though

Fitz grinned at the last message. They both knew he’d take it down to the hospital, regardless. It was just how their friendship worked, but he also had to give her a bit of a hard time about it. 

He went back into his room to finish getting dressed, pulling on the more flattering clothes he usually wore to the club. Unlike his usual scruffy academic clothes, these were properly fitted to his slender frame. He settled on straight-legged distressed jeans and a closely-fitted button down in royal blue with a faint candy stripe pattern, before ducking into the bathroom to wrangle his curls into order with a bit of pomade. Making sure he had his wallet and phone, along with Jemma’s key-card, Fitz shrugged into his gray peacoat and headed out. 

Jemma [22:38]: Coming up from LB station now  
Jemma [22:38]: Meet me outside 

Jemma jumped when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket nearly an hour later, and quickly reached for it. Her relieved expression quickly shifted to annoyed, however, when she read her friend’s text. 

Fitz [22:40]: I’m in the middle of shift. I can’t just take off.  
Jemma [22:40]: I’m dressed for the club  
Jemma [22:40]: And I’m not going through all the security to get back into A&E  
Fitz [22:41]: … really?   
Fitz [22:41]: That’s your reasoning? Your clothing? I’m trying to save lives here, Fitz. Please?

Fitz scowled his phone. He didn’t mind bringing Jemma her keycard, but he’d dropped by to see her a few times before. Some of her coworkers knew him by sight and he didn’t want a bunch of commentary on his attire. There was nothing wrong with it, but he looked different than what they were used to and Fitz didn’t have patience for that from anyone except Jemma. He hadn’t thought about it until he was on the Underground that he’d been in a hospital gown when they met and he was discharged before she’d seen him in street clothes, so she was bound to comment when she saw him, too. 

Jemma [22:42]: Saving lives? How many ‘mysterious abdominal pains’ have come through so far this shift?  
Jemma [22:42]: And I can just go on to the club if you’re too busy to come out

She sighed and pursed her lips as she read and reread his texts. She’d known the saving lives line had been too much, but hadn’t been able to resist using it anyway. 

Fitz [22:43]: Fine. I’m on my way out. Meet me by the side door at least?

Jemma shoved her mobile back into her pocket and took the stairs down to the main floor two at a time, cutting through the surprisingly quiet lobby to access the employee breakroom. She dodged a few nurses, coffees in hand, as they pushed back into the hospital proper, and darted through the employee door, wrapping her thin lab coat about her as protection from the cold. 

Glancing around, Jemma searched for Fitz’ familiar, lanky form, but couldn’t spot him. There was one well-dressed man a few feet away, facing the street, but no sign of her best friend. Frustrated, Jemma called out. 

“Fitz! Fitz, where are you? C’mon, I came outside. I didn’t even stop for a coat. Quit messing around.”

“Wha’ am I? Invisible?” Fitz shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped forward under the bright fluorescent lights that shone over the entranceway, digging into the pocket of his coat for her key card before realizing it was in his jeans pocket and fishing it out from there. Distracted by that, Fitz didn’t notice Jemma’s expression until he looked up, and couldn’t help the smirk on his face. “Yeah, I know. No’ my usual look.” 

Bloody hell.

That was Jemma’s first thought when Fitz turned toward her, his voice her only confirmation that it was indeed her friend. There was something vaguely familiar about him, like looking at a primary school classmate fifteen years after the fact, but he wasn’t quite her Fitz. For starters, his clothes were well-fitted, even his peacoat, allowing anyone who wished to take notice that while slender, he was rather fit. He’d dressed for his best features, too, she noticed as she took a few steps toward him, noting the royal blue shirt peeking out from beneath his jacket. It made his usually azure eyes a shade or two closer to navy, even as they practically glowed beneath the entryway lights. 

She would have been embarrassed to admit it, but her heart fluttered a bit in her chest looking at him. If she hadn’t known him and his preferences, and had seen him out at a bar… well, she might have been tempted to chat him up. If she ever found the courage, that was. Jemma grinned as she suddenly appreciated what Anthony and the other men Fitz picked up must see, and stepped closer, her hand extended to take the key card from him. 

“Not at all. Suits you, though, if you don’t mind my saying so. Wait, hold on-” Jemma’s hand veered toward his curls and her amused grin widened. “-did you use pomade?”

Fitz had been expecting a bit of surprise and a smart comment or two, but he hadn’t expected the hesitation and the slow perusal she gave him when she got a good look. Torn between feeling flattered and a little disconcerted, he nearly didn’t duck away from her hand in time. “Hey, leave the hair alone,” he warned, “Y’ an’ I both know those bloody curls do wha’ they wan’ most o’ the time. I have t’ make them a’ least a li’l presentable t’ go ou’.” 

He held the key card out to her with one brow lifted. Jemma still had that flummoxed look on her face and it was weirding him out, just a little. 

Jemma plucked the bit of plastic from between Fitz’ fingers and ducked her face as she tucked it into her lab coat pocket, willing her blush to subside. Regardless of how he looked all gussied up, he was still Fitz, still her best friend. She just had to force herself to look past his clothing and remember that. Feeling more herself, Jemma gave him another quick grin as she wrapped the thin material more closely about her frame in an attempt to hold back her shivering. 

“Sure. Use that excuse if it makes you feel better,” she teased, “but know that I’ll be hiding all my styling products from you from now on.”

“Oh, please,” Fitz scoffed. “I never use tha’ stuff unless I’m goin’ out and y’ know i’.” Relieved that she was teasing him like she usually would, Fitz relaxed enough to notice that despite the earlier nap, Jemma still looked tired. “Are things actually quie’ inside, lass? Maybe if you’re lucky, they’ll let y’ go home early. Y’ can come back up t’ mine if y’ want, y’ know. I’ll be home… late, but I’ll be there.” 

“They are, yeah,” she admitted, shifting her weight from side to side in a vain attempt to fend off the bitter January chill, “but I don’t know that they’ll send me home.” She’d hate to ask and look like she was shirking her duties during residency; it was bad enough people assumed she got so much from her family name, she didn’t want to give any credence to those particular whispers. She took a step back, edging toward the door and the promised warmth it offered, looking for a way to turn Fitz down without being hurtful. She knew he meant well, and she’d liked having him take care of her, but suddenly expecting more of that seemed like overstepping. Jemma couldn’t expect him to pamper her through everything. 

Taking one more look at him, her mind flitted over Anthony for the second time that evening, and she knew she found her reason. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt if you have company with you.” 

Fitz’ little smile wavered when Jemma visibly withdrew, wondering if he’d overstepped. Sure it was cold outside, but… There was something in her expression now that told him she was avoiding something. “I wasna plannin’ on bringin’ anyone home. No’ really in the mood for tha’. I just wanted t’ go ou’ and have company for a bi’, have a few drinks an’ dance for awhile, tha’s all,” Fitz shrugged. 

“Bu’ no worries. Y’ dinna have t’ come up if y’ dinna want t’,” he said, trying to play off the faint ping of hurt. Fitz was worried about her, and wanted to be sure Jemma was taking care of herself - she often didn’t, if it meant making things easier for others. She was likely the only person in his life he cared enough to worry about and having her reject that concern hurt. “Go on inside. Is cold ou’ here,” he said quietly, backing away. 

His words were casual, but Fitz hadn’t managed to hide his disappointment, not from Jemma. She hadn’t meant for him to be hurt, not at all, and called out to him before he’d even gotten two paces from her. 

“Fitz!” She strode toward him, stopping just within his closely-guarded personal space. “I didn’t mean… that is… shite.” Jemma took a deep breath and looked down before looking him in the eye once more. “Half the staff here thinks I was only put into the residency program because my mother plays bridge with the CFO’s wife. That’s why I don’t want to ask to be let home early.”

She knew that would be enough of an explanation for Fitz. He knew Jemma just that well, that his mind would fill in any blanks. “But, I promise, if I am let home early, I’ll come by yours. Even if I’m not, I’ll be by in the morning, and we can get breakfast. Or pass out on the sofa again. Something. The point is, I’ll see you after I’m done here, okay?”

She gave him a soft smile and laid a hand on his arm, hoping that was enough to undo the damage she’d so carelessly caused. 

It wasn’t, quite. 

Fitz gave her a tight little smile, appreciating that she’d tried to explain, but the damage was done. He met her smile with a faint shrug. “Up t’ you, lass. Is an open invitation. Y’ know you’re welcome whenever. Is no big deal.” Of course, it was, but he couldn’t say that to her now. The nosedive his mood had just taken had Fitz considering going home for the night without going out at all. 

Instead he reached to squeeze her fingers where they were curled over his arm, and then gently disentangle them. “You’ve been ou’ here too long withou’ a coat already. Go in an’ get a cup of coffee t’ take with y’ back t’ A&E. I’ll talk t’ y’ tomorrow.”

Jemma watched him go, heart in her throat, and stood there until he disappeared from sight. Sighing, and wishing she’d just kept her mouth shut and had taken him up on his offer, she hung her head and went back inside, hoping to lose herself in her patients. 

Even that backfired, however, as there were absolutely no new admits after 11:30. Jemma was propped against the central desk, struggling to stay awake as she reviewed the few incomplete files she had when Dr. Singh found her, his expression clearly concerned. 

“Simmons!” he barked, causing Jemma to jump. “Isn’t this your sixth straight shift?”

“Y-y-yes, Dr. Singh, it is,” she stammered, willing hear heart beat to return to normal. The head of the residency program always put her on edge, even when he was trying to be kind. 

“And how many consecutive shifts are residents supposed to work?”

“No more than four, sir.”

“Precisely. So, Dr. Simmons, explain to me why you’re in my hospital.” Jemma gulped, jaw working as she struggled to find the words, but none came. Her boss saw an opportunity and gladly took it. “There is no good explanation, not for something that can cause such fatigue that will endanger patient safety.” His hard expression went soft, and he leaned in. “Jemma, I know you’re trying to help by picking up spare shifts. Enough. You’re not doing yourself any favors as a doctor if you don’t give yourself time to recuperate after a shift. Go home. Sleep. Relax.”

Jemma watched, somewhat dumbly, as Singh gently took the files from her hands and passed them off to the head nurse before pulling out his copy of the rotation schedule. “You were supposed to be off Wednesday and Thursday, but worked for Cynthia. I don’t want you back here until Tuesday evening. You’re to sleep, first and foremost.” He set his clipboard down on the counter with a definitive click. “Home, Simmons. Now.”

That was all she needed to snap her out of her daze and put her in motion. Jemma went to the employee locker room and stripped out of her lab coat, leaving it hanging in her locker. She put her coat on, taking care to zip it all the way up to her chin, and tugged a knit cap on low over her ears before she headed for the Underground. She had no doubt about where she’d go, and caught the next train to Highgate.


	9. Chapter 9

Fitz got in about 2:30, taking the bus back up from downtown since he’d been out too late to catch the last train. Flipping the light on inside the door, he shrugged out of his coat and turned to find Jemma curled on his couch, asleep. He’d been up and down all evening, struggling with his feelings about the way she’d so casually dismissed his invitation, but finding her here… It helped, even as he wondered how she’d gotten out of work so early. He knew she wouldn’t have asked, no matter how quiet it got. 

Turning the light back off before it disturbed her, Fitz stayed there at the door until his eyes adjusted to the faint light and he could move without walking into anything. She was twisted into an awkward position that was going to be hell on her back if it was still as sore as it had been earlier. Fitz debated for a moment before shrugging and deciding she’d be more comfortable in his bed. Certainly just sleeping on a real mattress would be better than the couch, even if it was well cushioned and comfortable. 

Carefully taking her throw away and lifting her up, Fitz maneuvered her into his room and tucked her into his bed before grabbing a blanket or two and settling himself on the couch.

Jemma’s sleep was deep and peaceful, nearly from the moment she curled up into a corner of Fitz’ sofa, her face pressed into the cushions to best block out the already limited light. If she dreamt, Jemma didn’t remember, waking only with the knowledge that she honestly felt refreshed. She hadn’t felt that way in a long time, and it brought a smile to her face even before she opened her eyes. 

She knew she was no longer on Fitz’ sofa. That much was evident, from the feeling of smooth cotton beneath her cheek and the feeling of a heavy comforter over her shoulders, and Jemma easily guessed what had happened. She just knew that he had come home, and on seeing her curled up asleep on the sectional, he had put her into his bed. The sheets even smelled like Fitz, she noted as she executed a full body stretch, like soap and clean cotton and something slightly metallic. She was ready to turn over and burrow even further under the covers when she stopped herself. 

If she was in his bed that meant Fitz was on the couch.

Jemma frowned a bit at that thought. Fitz had likely been out late last night; actually, he must have since he came home later than she had. He deserved to have his bed back, if he wanted it. Regretting it nearly immediately, Jemma slid out from beneath his warm covers to pad out into the living room. Sure enough, Fitz was sprawled out, belly down, on the sofa, right arm and leg nearly hanging off the cushions. The sight brought a grin to her face; he looked so much like a little boy, it couldn’t help but pull at Jemma’s heart strings. 

Moving quietly and taking care not to startle him too badly, Jemma settled into a spot on the sofa near his head. She reached a gentle hand out to comb through his now-messy curls, heedless of the remaining bits of pomade that came away on her fingertips. “Fitz?” she whispered, voice gentle. “Your bed’s free if you want it back now.” 

Fitz had taken awhile to go to sleep. Not because he was uncomfortable, but he just couldn’t settle his mind down. It happened sometimes and he usually got back up, turning all the lights on and burying himself in drawing until he’d worn himself out. Unfortunately, his drafting table was in his bedroom along with his supplies and he’d only succeed in waking Jemma up if he tried to get anything out of the metal containers he kept his pencils and sketchbooks in. 

He eventually drifted off after an hour of keying in random ideas to the notes app on his phone, only to be pulled awake again what felt like minutes later. Jemma’s voice trickled into his consciousness and he let out a little disgruntled noise when he figured out what she was saying. “Go back t’ bed, Jem. Is too early,” he groaned, twisting himself around to face the back of the couch. “Wha’ are y’ even doin’ awake?” 

Now that he was a little more aware, Fitz knew it was still early, just by the quality of the light in the room. What was she doing awake? The Scot groaned again, wincing a little as he propped himself up on his elbow to peer up at her, bleary-eyed. “Everythin’ okay?” 

“Everything’s fine, Fitz. It is, I promise,” Jemma whispered in the dim morning light, rushing to reassure her friend when he shot her a dubious look. She had always been more of a morning person, and while she wasn’t overly chipper, she had quickly become aware that the Scot would only force himself awake before mid-morning on the weekends if he deemed it absolutely necessary. Today was clearly not a day for an exception, not that Jemma minded. 

“I might need a bit more paracetamol, but it’s nothing so pressing that it can’t wait a moment.” She elaborated, stifling a yawn against the back of her hand. “I just wanted to give you back your bed.” Jemma had also wanted to discuss with him what had happened at the hospital last night, but upon seeing his sleepy demeanor, decided it could wait a few more hours for when he felt more human and had some coffee in him. 

Fitz slumped back down into the couch with a groan and a muttered curse. "Then go back t' sleep. Take the bed. I'm no' moving', no' now." If he got up, he'd be fully awake. There was no point to trying to move to his bed. 

She didn't move though, and he frowned up at her. "Jemma. Wha', lass? The paracetamol is my bedside table if there's none lef' in the bathroom cabinet. Y' know where everythin' else is. If you're no' going' back t' bed, make yourself a' home, bu' please le' me sleep. Another hour. Please?"

Jemma blinked down at him, her lower lip firmly between her teeth as she considered the slightly surly engineer. She wouldn’t mind at least lying down a bit, even if it wasn’t for a heavy sleep, but she was quickly realizing she’d rather be out here, with him, than in the bed alone. His body heat had helped relax her aches yesterday, she reasoned, and would likely have the same effect now. She much preferred that to having to take a standard pain reliever. 

“Could I just lie down here with you?” Jemma winced a bit, unsure of how Fitz would react to such a blatant request, and held her breath waiting for a response. 

He’d let his eyes slip shut again, blocking out the light. Fitz just wanted to let himself drift before his mind woke up too far. He was already far too close to that line than he wanted to be and if she kept making him think, he'd be awake and grumpy for the rest of the day. 

Jemma’s quiet question took him by surprise, and he was just desperate enough that he blindly lifted the blanket and made a space for her between himself and the back of the couch. “Chris’. If i’ means you’ll le’ me sleep, fine. Lie down.” 

Jemma moved quickly and delicately as soon as Fitz lifted his blanket, wedging herself between his body and the cushions. It was warm there, and Jemma gave a happy little sigh as soon as he tucked the blanket back in around them. 

“Sweet dreams, Fitz,” she murmured as her eyelids fluttered shut. Before she realized what had happened, Jemma drifted off in a light sleep of her own. 

Fitz let her get comfortable, draping his arm over her when he dropped the blanket over her body and sealed them both in under its warmth. When he finally had his peaceful silence back, Fitz managed to drop back off too. 

~*~

Jemma [11:44]: You awake? I’m about to break for lunch, if you’re interested. Indian?

She hadn’t answered by the time noon came and Fitz had a 1pm meeting, so he had to go. Figuring she was still asleep, he didn’t think much of it until much later that afternoon when he checked his phone again after the meeting and a few more hours of lab work and found she still hadn’t texted him, even an apology for missing the earlier message. 

Jemma [17:22]: Not like you not to text me back.   
Jemma [17:22]: Everything okay?

Fitz took his time packing his things and clearing up his bench, hoping to get a text, but there was still nothing. Feeling a little like a creep, but writing it off as being a worried best friend - after all, it had only been two days since she’d been wracked with pain on his couch - he stopped by her flat. Knocking first, Fitz eventually used his key, but the flat was dark and still, Jemma’s bed neatly made and couch empty. 

At that point, outside on her front stoop, Fitz yanked his phone out and did what he very, very rarely did, and called her instead of their near-constant texts. 

It was loud in the cafe, and being pressed in close to William as they waited for their coffees, it took Jemma a moment to realize the melodic chiming was coming from her own mobile. Blushing a faint pink, she gave her date an apologetic smile and a small pat on the arm as she excused herself to answer the call. She frowned down at the caller ID when she saw Fitz’ name, suddenly worried. They never, ever called each other, and she naturally began running through every horrible scenario she could. 

“Fitz?” Jemma answered, struggling to keep her tone even against her rising panic. “Is everything all right?” 

“Are y’ alrigh’? Y’ havena answered my texts all day.” Fitz was relieved just to hear her voice and that she was clearly fine, even if he didn’t understand the unexpected silence. 

Pulling the handset away from her ear so she could get a look at the screen, Jemma now noticed the little SMS symbol in the upper left hand corner. She hadn’t heard her text notification go off all day, although she’d admittedly been preoccupied with her date for the better part of the day. Relieved that there was no emergency, Jemma felt her shoulders relax as she brought the phone back to her mouth. 

“I didn’t realize you’d texted me. I’m so sorry, Fitz, I’ve been out with William all day. I just wasn’t checking my mobile.” 

Fitz hesitated on his path back toward the Underground station, surprised and a little embarrassed. “Oh. I didna realize. Shite. I didna mean t’ interrup’, I was jus’... Eh. As long as you’re alrigh’. I’ll talk t’ y’ later,” he babbled out. After walking in on them that night and now their date - even though both interruptions had been accidents on his part - Fitz felt more than a bit guilty. 

“It’s quite all right, Fitz,” Jemma replied as she made her way back to William, stopping near enough so that she was practically pressed against the taller man’s side. She smiled up at him briefly before finishing her conversation. “I’m sorry I missed those texts. I’ll bring you lunch Friday to make up for it. And I’ll text you when I’m home.”

Feeling settled, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and took her latte from her date with a grateful smile. They’d had a lovely day wandering the National Gallery, and William had proven that despite his legal background, he could carry on a conversation about nearly everything, from art to trash television; that alone would have accounted for her attention, but when you added his classic good looks to the equation… well, it was little wonder Jemma hadn’t been thinking much of Fitz that day. 

“Who was that?” 

William’s voice was smooth, but Jemma detected a hint of curiosity beneath it. Moving easily, she slid beneath his arm as they exited, drinks in hand, and began to wander down the street window shopping. 

“Fitz,” she easily replied. “My friend from…” Jemma blushed as she struggled to find a way to describe how William might remember him. “... um, the other night. After the gallery opening.” She felt herself flush at the memory of what Fitz had walked in on, and was more than a little surprised to find herself wondering what it would take to convince William to give another round of snogging a go. 

“The one who just waltzed into your flat?”

“Yes, that’s Fitz.” The admission came with a chuckle as she recalled the look on her best friend’s face. “Although he certainly hasn’t been so free with the key I gave him since that evening.”

They walked a few paces in silence, Jemma content to watch the various shoppers and window displays while William mulled over what she’d said. Finally, he spoke again, voice hesitant as he withdrew his arm from about her shoulders. 

“Look, Jemma, I don’t want to get in the middle of anything. If you and Fitz-”

Jemma’s head whipped upward, hazel eyes flashing, first in surprise and then in mirth. “William, there is nothing other than friendship between myself and Fitz. Trust me. I’m not his type.”

“You’re a beautiful, well-educated woman. You’re every man’s type.”

William’s compliment caused Jemma to duck her head as her blush renewed itself, and she took another sip of her latte before answering. “Every straight man’s type, perhaps, but not Fitz’. Not romantically, at least. We are just very, very good friends.”

That settled, Jemma easily slipped back beneath William’s arm, her arm wrapped about his waist, and they leisurely made their way to the Underground, intent on going back to her flat. 

~*~

The next two weeks were difficult on Fitz, leaving him grumpy and out of sorts. He’d gotten used to having Jemma around. Not all the time, but a fair amount, adjusting his schedule in the lab to accommodate when she had time to spend with him. Now that she was dating William, things had shifted and left him unbalanced. This morning had been the last straw. 

Continuing what had become a regular thing since that first week they’d met, Fitz had gotten coffees and headed for the hospital on a random morning, intending to at least get a little bit of time with Jemma before she headed home to sleep and he went into the lab. Except when he’d rounded the corner near the hospital, William was already there to pick her up, his sporty little car idling at the curb as Jemma went on her toes to kiss him hello. 

His stomach felt sour, unhappy and more than a little lonely as he left Southwark and made the journey into Kensington, far quieter than he’d expected without Jemma’s company. He started to text her, but hesitated before sending the message, eventually deleting it and shoving the phone back in his pocket before losing himself in his lab work for the day. 

Jemma felt… well, off was the only good way to describe it. Everything seemed to be the same and proceeding according to plan: work, sleep, see her boyfriend, call her mum, rinse and repeat. But still, something was just not quite right. 

She was embarrassed about how long it took her to realize that it was Fitz who was missing from her daily routine. There had been a few intermittent text messages here and there, just enough to keep Jemma noticing that it was becoming a problem. Still, it was a definite issue for her. Fitz was the first true friend she had made in her short life; the idea of abusing him in anyway felt absolutely abhorrent, and she picked up her phone to text him immediately. 

Fitz [23:21]: I’m a shite friend. Are you free Thursday?   
Fitz [23:21]: Maybe we could do a movie night, just the two of us.  
Fitz [23:22]: I’ll bring whatever treats you’d like. And wine, naturally.

Fitz was in line to get into his favorite club when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He nearly didn’t even look - messages this late into his evening were rarely good news - but he did anyway. His curiosity wouldn’t let it go. He bit his lip, seeing the messages from Jemma, who apparently had finally noticed he hadn’t been texting her or randomly showing up to see her. 

He’d been answering when she texted first, but after the previous incidents, feeling like he was interrupting or interfering with her time with William, Fitz had decided to let her tell him when she was free. Except she hadn’t really taken the hint and left him almost entirely at loose ends. Which was why he was here, heading out on a Tuesday night because he was bored and feeling more alone than he ever had in his life. 

His first reaction was to tell her no, that he had other plans for Thursday, and he had to shove down the resentful feeling and instinct. Just because Jemma already had plans with William when he’d asked her to do something with him, didn’t make it right for him to make something up to do the same to her. No matter how much it had stung. It wasn’t fair for him to be angry with her for wanting a relationship besides the one she already had with him. 

The line had moved quite a bit before Fitz finally got his head on straight enough to text her back. 

Jemma [23:44]: Yeah, we can do that.   
Jemma [23:45]: What time?

Jemma found herself fidgeting as she visited her patients, nervously twirling her pen and responding half a beat too late when asked a question. Her mind was firmly rooted on the small device in her pocket as she desperately waited for a text notification. Finally, she felt the telltale buzz, and her hand shot into her pocket to reach for her mobile before she recalled how highly unprofessional that would be while speaking with a patient. 

Choking down the urge to just pull out her phone, Jemma smiled and patiently answered all of Mr. Lowell’s questions, even the rather asinine ones, before bolting from the room and pulling out her phone. A relieved smile broke across her mouth when she saw the messages. Ignoring the few William had sent, she tapped on Fitz’ and answered immediately. 

Fitz [23:52]: Should we do dinner first? Say around 7?  
Fitz [23:53]: Either I can cook or we can go out. I’m happy with either. 

He eyed her replies, considering, and decided that he wanted to be selfish. If Jemma was going to spend the evening with him, he wanted her to himself. 

Jemma [23:55]: Stay in. 7 is fine.   
Jemma [23:55]: Want me to pick up anything?

There was another long delay without a reply, and by that time Fitz had made it into Heaven. The three shots of tequila he downed almost as soon as he walked in meant he quickly forgot the phone in his pocket and lost himself on the dance floor. It wasn’t until he’d mostly worn himself out a couple hours later and stepped outside for air that he looked at the phone again. 

Fitz [00:14]: Indian sounds good. I’ll see you then. 

~*~

At 6:55 Thursday evening, bundled up against the cold, Jemma exited the Highgate station with two bottles of wine, one red and one white, in hand, and made the short walk to Fitz’ flat, letting herself in with her key. 

“Hello?” she called, setting down the bottles on his entryway table as she took off her coat and toed off her shoes. “Fitz?” She glanced into the living room, and when she didn’t see him there, headed toward the kitchen. At the very least, she could uncork the red and pour herself a glass while she waited for Fitz to make himself known. 

Fitz had gone out to pick up the Indian food Jemma had asked for, cutting through the Tube station to get back over to his own neighborhood rather than going the long way around. If Jemma had been a few minutes later, he’d probably have run into her on the way. As it was, he came clattering in a few minutes later with a heavy grocery sack tucked under his arm and found Jemma in his kitchen. 

“Hey. Sorry, I go’ caught up a’ the restauran’ waitin’ for th’ order t’ be done,” he apologized quickly. He’d meant to be back before Jemma got to his flat. Glancing at the glass in her hand, Fitz raised his eyebrows. “Int’ the alcohol before you’ve even had dinner, lass?” Jemma didn’t usually drink much - for her to have uncorked a bottle before dinner was unusual. 

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Jemma gave a little shrug and set her glass down on the counter, and quietly slid herself in front of it. “Just wanted to give it a chance to breathe, is all, before dinner.”

Lately, she’d gotten in the habit of having a glass of wine before dinner, at least on her nights off. Either William would come to hers or she’d go to his before heading out, and they’d share a glass and chat a bit before rushing out to make their reservation… well, if they made their reservation at all. Her boyfriend could be awfully persuasive after a glass or two. 

Jemma blushed at the thought and quickly shook her head so she could focus. Tonight was about making it up to Fitz for what a shite friend she’d been, not rehashing each and every detail of her relationship with William. Taking a step toward him, she opened her arms, clearly asking for a hug, and gave him a small smile. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around more.” 

Fitz was curious about the sudden tinge of pink on Jemma’s cheeks. While it wasn’t entirely unusual for her to blush when being teased, the distant expression in her eyes said she was thinking about something else. He could get what, without much trouble. 

Jealousy was a terrible thing, even if it had nothing to do with Fitz wanting her romantically, because he didn’t, but Jemma was his best friend, he’d been there first, and being shuffled aside in William’s favor was disconcerting… and when Fitz let himself think about it, hurtful. Knowing even now, when she was supposed to be spending time with him, that Jemma’s mind was elsewhere was a painful reminder that he might have lost her almost as quickly as he’d found her. And that it was harder now to be alone, knowing what he was missing. 

Still, Fitz took the open invitation and stepped forward into her hug. It wasn’t her fault that he was handling this badly. Jemma had every right to want a relationship with someone, and to spend time with them. He just wished she had more time to spend with him while she did that as well. 

“Yeah… is been a bi’ too quie’ around here,” he admitted. It was the closest he’d come to actually saying he missed her, although his sad little smile said plenty. 

The look on his face came awfully close to breaking her heart, and Jemma snugged her arms about Fitz more tightly in response. She’d forgotten how good it felt to hug him, how he was just tall enough for her to be able to comfortably rest her head on his shoulder, but not so tall she’d hurt her neck looking up at him. He smelled good, too, that same mix of soap, heat, and the faintest whiff of cologne, and Jemma couldn’t help but burrow into him a bit, trying to get closer. 

She would have been content to stand there a while longer, but when Fitz’ stomach made its presence known by grumbling a bit, Jemma giggled and pulled back. “All right, let’s feed you,” she teased with a much happier smile than she’d worn previously, “before your stomach revolts outright. Unpack the bags, and I’ll grab the dishes?”

They worked quickly and efficiently, and soon their plates were piled high with food. Fitz had been sure to order samosas for them both, along with murg bhuna, saag paneer, and garlic naan, leaving Jemma’s mouth salivating. William preferred to stick with cuisine he was used to, and had been hesitant to try some of the places she loved but he had deemed “too exotic.”

“We should do this more often,” she chirped as she gathered her plate and wine glass and moved to set it on Fitz’s small table before coming back into the kitchen. “I wish my schedule weren’t so mad; if it were a bit more structured, I wouldn’t worry about having to schedule time with you. We could have at least one set night.” Jemma took another sip of her malbec, savoring the taste as she chewed over her own words. She felt slightly guilty that she had to do it at all, since Fitz was her best friend, but she’d have to make more of an effort from now on to see him. “Speaking of, are you free next week?”

Fitz dug into his food, still feeling off-kilter. He glanced up when she spoke and nodded in agreement, swallowing before answering her. “Yeah, we should. An’ is no’ like I’m no’ home most weeknights. Y’ could drop by if y’ wanted,” he reminded. He’d told Jemma that before, but she hadn’t taken him up on it. And he certainly didn’t feel free to drop in on her anymore. 

“I… dinna know abou’ nex’ week though,” Fitz frowned. She would have to pick next week, wouldn’t she? “I’ve go’ a presentation for Professor Jang, the college trustees and the officials who gave me the gran’ for my projec’ nex’ Thursday. I’m goin’ t’ be a bi’ crazy tryin’ t’ prepare.” He’d only been informed a couple of days before that this group wanted a formal update on his progress and had to put together an in-depth report of his previous findings, the current status of the project and his expected timeline for finishing. 

Honestly, Fitz wasn’t happy about his project being questioned or the request for this much of his research at this point - he was concerned they were looking to hand the report over to other engineers and chemists instead of waiting for him to finish it on his own, now that he’d ruled out so many possibilities and narrowed down the most likely ones. But since they were giving him the funding - including his living expenses - he couldn’t reasonably say no. 

Fitz sighed and sat back in his chair, trying not to sound bitter that he had to go through all this trouble to spend time with his best friend. “Maybe nex’ weekend? If y’ dinna have plans with William already, tha’ is.” 

Jemma winced as she listened to Fitz speak. His frustration with having to present on his project, after all the time he had sunk into it, was evident. She knew she’d feel the same way if all of her decisions as a resident were being reviewed. She also knew that if there was ever a time Fitz would need to blow off steam afterwards, that was it. It meant he’d likely want to go out dancing Friday night, but perhaps they could do something during the day. 

“I’m working next Friday and Saturday night, and promised William I’d see him Saturday afternoon, but what about Friday or Sunday morning?” Jemma leaned back in her chair and cocked her head as she watched Fitz. “How does a celebratory breakfast sound?”

“Dinna know how celebratory it’ll be,” Fitz shrugged. “Bu’ if nex’ week goes the way I think is goin’ t’, you’re no’ getting me ou’ of bed on Friday until sometime after noon. I’m sure as hell no’ goin’ into th’ lab.” There was a good chance that even if he got the prep work done, he wouldn’t be sleeping most of next week just from the stress of the presentation and thinking the worst going into it. What if they stole his research? What if they decided to drop the project and cut his grant? What if he got up there and blanked and sabotaged everything himself? 

Really, he’d be a neurotic mess. Probably a good thing not to see her next week and let her see that. 

At the same time, he wished she’d be around to help keep him sane.

Catching himself this time before he made a comment about Jemma’s limited time, he gave her a mostly genuine smile. “Le’s plan for Sunday. Breakfast an’ figure ou’ somethin’ t’ do the rest o’ the day?”

“That sounds perfect. How do you feel about Greenwich Market? I haven’t had a chance to walk around it in ages. We could grab something and just walk around a bit.” 

The idea must be acceptable, because for the first time all evening, Fitz’ smile seems genuine as he agrees with her plan, and suddenly everything seems blessedly normal again. Satisfied, Jemma turned aback to her meal, and allowed Fitz to vent more of his frustration about his upcoming presentation.


	10. Chapter 10

Jemma bustled out of London Bridge Hospital, excited by the prospect of an entire day spent with Fitz. She had texted him a few times since their dinner the week prior, however with his presentation looming, she didn’t want to give him anything extra to worry about. Now, with that behind him, they could focus on basking in each other’s company. The thought had her grinning like an idiot as she dug into her bag for her mobile so she could text Fitz, when a familiar voice breaks her concentration. 

“Jemma!”

She looked up, startled, to see William, stylishly dressed as always, leaning against his royal blue 918 Spyder. His grin was partially devilish, and entirely tempting, and Jemma wandered over to him without hesitation to kiss him in greeting. 

“This is a pleasant surprise,” she mumbled against his mouth as she pulled away from his kiss. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until Wednesday.”

William licked his lips and glanced down before leveling Jemma with his gaze, sending shivers down her spine. She was ready to ask him what was going on when he reached into his back pocket and held up what appeared to be two tickets. 

“I couldn’t live without seeing you before then, so… we’re going to Paris. Tonight.” Jemma opened her mouth to protest, but William held up a gentle hand to stop her. “We won’t be able to see each other on Valentine’s Day, and it’s not that long a trip on Eurostar, and I’ll have you back before your shift tomorrow night.” He leaned down to tuck Jemma in close to his chest, lips pressed to her temple. “C’mon, Jemma, come with me. Don’t you want to see the Eiffel Tower for Valentine’s Day?”

His tone was pleading, and he looked so much like a little boy that Jemma would have said yes on the spot, were it not for another pair of pleading blue eyes lurking in the back of her mind. 

“I can’t, William. You know I have plans with Fitz today.”

“Forget Fitz!” William’s look was purely dismissive, stinging Jemma the slightest bit. “You can see Fitz whenever you’d like. But Paris? For a Valentine’s Day date?” Sensing her hesitation, William pushed a bit harder. “I have a bag packed for you and everything. Don’t tell me I sweet talked your landlady for nothing.”

Jemma paused, considering. She’d feel terrible canceling on Fitz, but William did have a point; how often could she run off to see Paris at a moment’s notice? Surely her friend would understand that, right?

“All right,” she conceded, laughing as she hit Fitz’ speed dial on her phone. “Just let me call Fitz and explain.” 

Fitz snatched up his phone when he saw Jemma was calling, figuring she was either calling to ask what he wanted for breakfast - or to tell him she was stuck at work and to give him and ETA. He could hear her laughing in the background when he put the phone to his ear and called out a greeting, glad it was nothing too serious. 

“Jemma! Hey, wha’s goin’ on?” he asked, sitting back in his chair and stretching a bit from where he’d been hunched over his drafting desk. “Did y’ get stuck a’ work?” 

“Fitz, hi! William, stop that, I’m on the phone! Focus on the road!” 

Jemma shook her head, still laughing at her boyfriend’s apparent inability to keep his hands to himself, even as he sped them along to the streets of London. Satisfied that he was focused on the road and not on seeing if the insides of her knees were ticklish, she focused on the phone conversation once more. 

“Fitz,” she began again, feeling the wince as it came onto her face. “Something came up. William picked me up from work this morning… with two tickets to Paris. He wants to take me for a quick Valentine’s getaway.”

His heart sank as soon as he realized Jemma was with William, already knowing where this was going. His entire posture slumped, eyes closing in resignation as she quickly explained what had happened. 

Fitz was happy for her. Happy that she was happy, happy that she’d found someone who was treating her well and making time for her. He couldn’t begrudge seeing her happy, hearing her laughing and bubbly and enthusiastic… but he couldn’t help being disappointed, too. 

One day. 

One bloody day he’d actually managed to claim in her schedule in weeks and William still managed to monopolize her time and attention. 

He realized Jemma was still waiting for him to say something and he forced himself to try and sound cheerful for her sake. “Paris, wow. Tha’s great, Jem! I hope y’ have a good time,” Fitz said. “Call me when y’ ge’ back an’ we’ll reschedule, okay?” He didn’t want to drag out the conversation, afraid that if she kept him too long he was going to break and she’d realize just how upset he was. 

His tone was about three shades too bright to be genuinely enthusiastic and set Jemma’s teeth on edge. Fitz was disappointed, and she felt like an absolute arsehole all of the sudden. They had had this morning planned for a week…

“Fitz, are you sure? We haven’t left London yet. I’m sure we could reschedule the tickets and hotel.” Jemma could feel William’s eyes as the darted over to her, clearly shocked and upset, and held up a hand to stop his protest. She wanted to go away, and knew she would have a good time, but not at the expense of her friendship. If Fitz asked her to stay, she would in a heartbeat. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure, lass. Y’ never get t’ go away with your work schedule. An’ is Paris. I remember y’ tellin’ me y’ wanted t’ go.” 

The words hurt to say, even though it was the right thing to do. The selfless thing to do. The thing a best friend should do for their best friend. Fitz swallowed hard and continued speaking, “I’m sure William’s waitin’ on y’, so I’ll let y’ go. Have a good time an’ call me when y’ ge’ back, okay?”

“All right, Fitz. I’ll call you when I get in tomorrow, if it’s not too late. If not, Tuesday morning. Maybe we can get coffee before you go in to the lab.” 

Jemma pressed the end call button on her mobile and sat back in the bucket seat, her previous good mood suddenly deflated. She watched the city pass by her window, zipping by as they headed toward the train station, but her mind remained firmly in Highgate, with Fitz. She wondered what he was doing, and seriously considered asking William to turn the car around and take her back. 

But then he pulled into long term parking and leaped out of the car to come around and tug her out of the low-slung vehicle. The excitement in his eyes was too much to ignore, and so Jemma swallowed, resolving herself to enjoy her 24 hours in Paris. She could check in on Fitz when she got back. 

Fitz' fingers clenched tight around his phone when he heard the connection break, his heart twisting in his chest. There was a piece of him that couldn't even be surprised... She had always been too good for him anyway, bright and intelligent and so much less awkward than he would ever naturally be. 

He knew he had a different relationship with her than William did, but he couldn't help but feel like he'd been judged and found lacking. But whatever care Jemma did or didn't have for him, he wanted the best for her. If William was what she wanted, he wouldn't stand in the way. 

It resolved his earlier decision not to be pushy about making plans with her. And made him feel even lonelier. He knew how to fix that, temporarily, at least. 

~*~

True to his word, William had Jemma back in her flat in plenty of time to make her shift on Monday night. She was even early enough that after a quick shower, she decided to try phoning Fitz. She'd had a good time in France, but he'd been on her mind. 

Jemma had missed her best friend terribly. 

A small smiled played on her lips as she mentally reviewed her trip, picking which highlights she wanted to share with him as she dialed Fitz’ mobile. It quickly disappeared, however, when it rang through to his voicemail. 

"Oh. Hi, Fitz. I said I'd call when I got home, so, uh, I am. Just call me when you get this. We'll see about coffee, yeah?"

Fitz’ phone was sitting next to him, and he saw her calling, but… He wasn’t sure he could talk to her right now without it being blatantly obvious that he was upset with her. His hurt from yesterday was actually tinged with a bit of anger now, because while he was trying to be a good friend to her, Jemma didn’t seem to feel the same obligation to him. It wasn’t fair, and it didn’t feel right. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. 

Steadfastly ignoring the buzzing mobile, Fitz waited until the voicemail alert pinged and dialed into the message. The sinking of her tone when she realized he hadn’t picked up was obvious, but the message was short and to the point and didn’t seem very enthusiastic. He waited a little while and then sent her a text. 

Jemma [19:02]: Saw you called. How was Paris?

She frowned at her mobile as she rode in to work, head cocked slightly to the side. Fitz had told her early on in their relationship that he didn’t much care for speaking on the phone, but he had gotten better about calling if she called and texting if she had sent a text. And while he was at least answering her in a way, it just didn’t sit well with Jemma. She considered the simple message another few minutes before managing a response of her own. 

Fitz [19:24]: Paris was really nice. He pulled out all the stops.   
Fitz [19:24]: Dinner at a place on the Seine, Eiffel Tower at night, gorgeous hotel

Jemma paused, wondering if including the two dozen blood-red roses and diamond studs William had bought her would seem like bragging. In the end, she decided against it; the flowers would just die eventually anyway, and Fitz would see the earrings when she wore them. If he was curious, he could ask then. 

Fitz [19:26]: It was a rather picture perfect Valentine’s date.

Despite himself, Fitz was glad that she’d enjoyed herself. He wasn’t that big of an asshole. Not that he ever had to worry about someone trying to whisk him away to Paris, and the whole romance thing was pretty well lost on him, but William had put in some serious effort to plan all that for Jemma. That part, Fitz could appreciate on her behalf. 

Jemma [19:41]: Sounds like. I’m glad you had a good time.  
Jemma [19:42]: Back to the usual routine tonight? On shift at 8? 

Jemma kept checking her phone, waiting to hear from him. It hadn’t been until she’d seen him for dinner last Thursday that she had realized just how much she missed talking to Fitz. It also made her realize that she had to be better about being in contact with him; it was ridiculous (and entirely her fault) that she had lost track of Fitz while she became involved with William.

Fitz [19:44]: Yeah. I’m on shift through Thursday this week. Somehow I’m off both Friday and Saturday.   
Fitz [19:45]: I know Friday is your usual night to go out, but are you free Saturday?  
Fitz [19:45]: I promise, no running off to Paris this time. ;-)

Fitz hesitated over his reply several times, typing and deleting before finally settling on a message and pressing send quickly before he changed his mind yet again. 

Jemma [19:54]: If you run off this time, I’m going to wonder if you’re deliberately avoiding me.

Her face broke out in a wide grin as she walked into London Bridge Hospital. Things weren’t perfect, but if Fitz was back to teasing her, they were at least edging closer to normal. 

Fitz [19:58]: I would never avoid you  
Fitz [19:58]: I’m taking that as a yes, btw. Mine or yours Saturday?

He let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding between when his phone buzzed and he actually read Jemma’s response. Maybe there was some light at the end of the tunnel and she’d actually make more effort now. 

Jemma [20:03]: Mine. Bring beer. I’ll supply the pizza and movies. 

Fitz [20:18]: Perfect. I’ll be by around 7.

~*~

Jemma made sure she had everything out of the way before three on Saturday. She took care of her errands, cleaned her flat, and saw William for lunch just to make sure her time with Fitz would be worry-free and uninterrupted.

She felt lighter than she had before, nearly bouncing as she made her way along the icy walk, carrying two packs of Fitz’ favorite IPA. The people who passed her looked miserable, huddled in winter coats and scarves and gloves, but she was practically floating down the street. She felt, in that moment at least, that she really could have it all: busy job, doting boyfriend, and a best friend with whom she could share nearly anything. 

Life was good. 

She juggled her load as she worked her key in the door, playfully calling, “Fitz! I bought your IPA, so I’m calling dibs on the first movie selection!” as she stomped the snow off her boots in his entry way.

Knowing Jemma was coming over, Fitz had actually properly cleaned his flat for once instead of shuffling his mess into his room. His drawings were all properly stored away, most of his little gadgets tucked into corners and across his bookshelves instead of being out and about. He’d also gotten a proper blanket to leave over the back of the couch instead of the throw that used to be there. 

Granted, he’d bought that after the night she’d crashed there while she was on her period… But things had been weird after that and Jemma hadn’t been staying over, so this was the first time he’d bothered to set it out. 

At the sound of her voice, he poked his head around the corner from the kitchen. “Is i’ snowin’ again? I was hopin’ we were done with tha’ for a while,” he grumbled, then smirked at her comment. “You’re pickin’ from my collection, so tha’s fine. There’s nothin’ in there I wouldna be willin’ t’ watch. Pizza should be here in about 15.” 

Smiling fondly at Fitz’ annoyed look, Jemma hung her coat and kicked off her shoes before walking over to kiss him on the cheek. The greeting out of the way, she carried her burden to his refrigerator, popping the tops off two of them with his bottle opener before putting the rest away.

“It’s not heavy, but it is accumulating, slowly. Here,” Jemma handed him an amber bottle and gently clinked the necks together. “I can’t lie. I think I’m in the mood for Pixar tonight” 

Fitz was a little surprised by the kiss, but she’d backed away before his nerves even had a chance to ping at the unexpected contact. He glanced at the label on the bottle she handed him, amused that she really did know his favorites. After all these months, Fitz figured it was probably inevitable. He knew most of her favorites, too, but then, he was attentive to details like that. 

He groaned about the snow and sighed. “A’ leas’ is Saturday an’ I dinna have t’ go anywhere unless I want to,” Fitz said, a satisfied tone in his voice. “Were y’ plannin’ on crashin’ here tonigh’, lass?” 

This might have been the most normal and comfortable conversation they’d had in nearly a month, and something tense in Fitz’ stomach unspooled a bit, feeling less like he might be sick if he ate. 

Jemma glanced at the refrigerator, mentally tallying how much she was likely to drink. It wasn’t as if she would be driving later, but walking back to her flat from the Underground wasn’t exactly an entirely risk-free endeavor, particularly not in the snow. Taking a long pull of her beer, she looked back at Fitz. His expression was soft, almost oddly hopeful, and tugged at Jemma around the edges. 

“I’d like to, if you didn’t mind. Maybe we could go out to brunch tomorrow, if we’re so inclined.”

“Alrigh’ then. I will no’ worry abou’ clearin’ the walk until tomorrow then,” he said with a shrug. His landlord handled the drive and the front of the house, but Fitz was responsible for the narrow path from his flat down to the drive. “An’ Pixar? Really? Which one?” He refocused on her earlier comment about her movie selection now that was settled. 

“Mmmmm,” Jemma hummed, thinking. “Wall*E? I haven’t watched that one in a while.” 

When Fitz nodded his agreement, Jemma made herself comfortable in what had become her spot on his sectional, legs crossed and a blanket she didn’t recognize tucked across her lap, and waited for Fitz to start the movie. 

~*~

It was just after Wall*E first spotted EVE when Jemma’s mobile began buzzing, rattling its way across Fitz’ coffee table. She blushed and mumbled an apology, forcing herself up from where she’d been curled up next to the engineer so she could glance at the caller ID. 

It was William. 

Frowning, Jemma rejected the call and shrugged at Fitz. “I told him at lunch today where I’d be tonight. I’m not sure why he’s calling.” She settled back in to her previous position and tried to focus back in on the movie when it happened again. With a frustrated sigh, she leaned forward once more and snatched the device off the table, rejecting the call once more. This time, though, instead of placing it back on the table, she let it fall into the scant space between herself and Fitz, resting on top of the blanket. 

The third time William called, Fitz glanced at Jemma and snatched the phone up before she had a chance to, jabbing his finger against the answer button. After four beers during their conversation, dinner, and now the movie, some of his natural reservations had been stripped away. “Look, arsehole,” he growled into the phone. “Y' got her undivided attention all bloody month. She’s with me. She’s fine. Now stop bloody callin' an' wai’ your goddamned turn.” 

He ended the call just as quickly as he’d answered it and tossed the phone over onto a chair, bouncing on the upholstery and landing facedown, where neither of them would see if anyone tried to call into it again. Fitz slumped back down on the couch, expression sullen. He didn’t know why William had called, and he didn’t care. It was his time with Jemma and he resented William’s interruption, especially when Jemma had clearly not answered the previous two calls. 

Eyes wide in disbelief, Jemma listened as Fitz answered her phone and shooed her boyfriend away so gruffly. She knew he could be surly, hell, she had been on the receiving end of it more often than she’d care to admit, but she had never heard that tone before. It made her believe that Fitz could be dangerous, and forced her to view him a bit differently. 

Jemma gave a quiet, stunned chuckle as she processed what Fitz had said, his comment about William having her undivided attention and needing to wait his turn, and things finally clicked into place. Fitz was put off by the fact that he no longer had her undivided attention. He missed his friend, and she had been entirely oblivious to it. 

“Fitz,” she sighed, searching for the right words. “I… I wish you hadn’t done that, but I understand why you did.” He was silent, staring down her mobile as if it were a poisonous snake, and Jemma reached out a gentle hand and laid it on his arm. He started a bit, but it had the desired effect of pulling his attention back toward her. “It’s not William’s fault that I’ve been such shite about keeping in touch. He’s taken up some of my time, true, but I have to be the one to make time to see you.”

She tilted her head back so it draped across the back of his sofa, expression dark. “He is going to be pissed tomorrow. I may have to impose on you past brunch, and just hide here until I have to go on shift.”

“Excuse me?” Fitz was even more startled by her comment than he’d been by her touching him. “If he’s goin’ t’ be pissed a’ anyone, he can be pissed a’ me. I’m th’ one who said i’.” One of the only reasons Fitz had kept as quiet as he had was that he was convinced William was treating her well. If Jemma was wary of him being upset with her, maybe that wasn’t quite so true. “An’ it doesna matter whose faul’ i’ is, lass. The resul’ is still the same.” 

Fitz knew he still sounded bitter about that, but he was. He couldn’t help it. William had effectively stolen his best friend away from him, leaving Fitz floundering and feeling adrift. He wasn’t willingly going to give up the only time he’d gotten with her like this since she’d first started dating the other man. 

Jemma caught his sharp tone, and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “It’s not like that at all, just so you know. I just don’t feel like arguing about this, mostly because we’ll both end up blue in the face. He won’t understand why I wouldn’t pick up, even though I told him I was spending tonight with you.” She gave another shrug and looked up at the ceiling once more. “If he really wants to talk about it when I see him next, we’ll talk, and I’ll tell him that he’s in the wrong. It happens. Couples fight sometimes.”

“But-” Fitz bit his tongue sharply. He didn’t want to be the cause of friction in Jemma’s relationship. Every now and then he thought it would be easier if there were just more hours in the day for Jemma to be able to do more, but it suddenly hit him that even if there were, it probably still wouldn’t matter. William was selfish and would claim them all for himself and Jemma would let him. 

Fitz’ lips pressed together tightly for a moment or two before he finally nodded. “Alrigh’. But I expec’ t’ be told if he gets ou’ o’ line. Jus’- jus’ because things have been weird doesna mean I’m no’ still your best friend.” 

At least, he hoped it didn’t. 

Head lolling toward him, Jemma gave Fitz a disbelieving scowl, one that asked exactly what the hell he’d been taking, and softly clicked her tongue at him.

“Leopold Alexander Fitz,” she admonished in the dim light of his den, “You were, are now, and will forever be my best friend, even if I’ve been terrible about showing you that. I promise, I won’t go off grid like that on you again. And I’ll do a better job making sure that William understands that Fitz time is Fitz time.” 

Moving gingerly and dropping her scowl, Jemma slid her hand across the few inches between them to slip between his where they were resting in Fitz’ lap. Delicately curling her fingers over his, Jemma gave his hand a little squeeze. “That is, if you’ll still have me after how neglectful I’ve been.” 

She worried her lower lip. If she insisted anymore about how terrible she’d been, Fitz would only blow her off. Instead of saying it aloud, then, Jemma promised herself that she’d at least get back to texting Fitz as often as she had been. Hopefully if they stayed in contact that way, it would take the sting of some of her free time going to William as well as to him. 

He gave her a sheepish expression and a shrug at her chiding, but inwardly he was relieved that Jemma still felt the same way. And that she acknowledged she’d been terrible about keeping in contact with him. Now, whether she stuck to her word about putting her foot down with William was another story. Honestly, Fitz wouldn’t say it to Jemma, but at this point he’d only believe it when he saw it happen. 

Fitz returned his attention to the tv, only to be distracted, his eyes tracking down to see her hand on his. After a moment he turned his own palm up to let her twine their fingers together, and held on tightly. Jemma’s next words stung, and he sucked in a breath. 

“I didna think tha’ was a question.”

His mouth worked like he wanted to say more, but he couldn’t get his brain to put together a comment that wasn’t pointed or possibly hurtful. Jemma was right - she’d been neglecting him. But he certainly had never had it in mind to end their friendship. That was the last thing he wanted. Fitz could share, if she could be better about sharing more equally with him and William. 

Squeezing his fingers a bit more tightly between his own, Jemma smiled and nudged his shoulder. She felt so good, being back with Fitz like this, that she didn’t really notice the dark look in his eye, or the way he seemed poised to say more but stopped himself. She was merely happy that for the time being, things between them were headed in the right direction. That same effervescent giddiness was what caused her to bounce up from the couch, their fingers finally parting, and led her into the kitchen of another round of drinks. 

Sometime later, after they had exhausted the beer and watched not only Wall*E, but also The Incredibles and were half way through Monsters, Inc., Jemma found herself sprawled across the sectional, head in Fitz’ lap. Her entire body felt pleasantly loose and disconnected, and her mind wandered from topic to topic. If she’d been sober, she’d have realized just how random her conversation was, but as it was she was content to let her mind wander as Fitz brushed his fingers through her hair, sending happy little shivers across her scalp and down her spine. 

Settling into the warm glow of his gentle affection, Jemma let herself begin to allow her mind to wander to Paris. “Fitz, you should have seen this restaurant William took me to! There was an outdoor seating section, obviously it was too cold to use in February, but there were still these massive windows looking over the river and the city. Somehow, he got us a table right at one of them… and then we went walking, and climbed the Eiffel Tower, and Fitz! You should see how Paris looks all lit up like that.” She craned her neck so she could look up at him, a dazed, happy smile playing across her face. 

“We should go sometime, to Paris, I mean. It wasn’t a bad trip on the train… we could even stay at the same hotel! It was gorgeous, with this fluffy white duvet and all these pillows…” Jemma giggled as she trailed off, clearly lost in thought. “There might have been too many pillows… we had to throw them off the bed before we could even dream of using it.”

If she’d been more sober, Jemma might have noticed the dark look that came over her best friend’s face, but as it was, she was too lost in her memories to see, and prattled on heedlessly. 

Fitz had seen the movies already, so he wasn’t especially irritated about her talking, splitting his attention between her and the television, especially once he realized she wasn’t really expecting him to participate in the conversation. He’d had enough beer to leave him drunk without being too messy, and far less worried about his personal boundaries than he would any other time. 

When she nestled her head into his lap, he’d only meant to brush her hair back from where it was caught between her shoulder and his leg. Instead, Fitz kept catching himself fiddling with the long strands and finally let himself run his fingers through it in slow strokes while he watched the movie and half-listened to Jemma’s rambling. 

It wasn’t until he caught on that she was talking about Paris and babbling her way toward topics he really, really didn’t want to hear about, that Fitz decided more alcohol was in order. 

Sliding out and away, he made his way into the kitchen, hesitating a moment with his head bowed and arms braced on the counter. Fitz had to remind himself that Jemma didn’t mean to rub it in that she’d had a fabulous time with William after bailing on him. She was drunk and simply filling him in on all the things that had happened while they hadn’t really been talking, that was all. Still, he found himself on tip-toe, reaching into an upper cabinet for the bottle of Glenfidditch he’d stashed there ages ago. 

He wasn’t expecting the feel of a body up against his back, weight pinning his lax body between it and the counter, and with his arms up he felt virtually defenseless. Pushing back and twisting away, he instinctively put himself in the corner by the refrigerator and wall, posture defensive and eyes a bit startled and more than a little wild as he stared at Jemma. Realizing it was her had his shoulders slumping in relief – Fitz’ reaction had been instant and instinctive and nothing to do with rational thought - but his breath was still coming too fast and his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. 

“Jesus chris’, lass,” Fitz muttered, his voice lower than usual, rasping a bit. “Was tha’ really necessary?”

“S-s-sorry, I just-” 

The shock of the way Fitz had pulled away from her, and the clear hurt in his eyes, sobered Jemma immediately. When she had pushed off the couch to follow him, it had only been because she had missed the feeling of his fingers in her hair and the warmth that radiated from him. All of the little things she had forgotten and had missed about being close to Fitz while she was busy getting tangled up with William had come flooding back. She liked the purely platonic physical affection he seemed to be willing to supply and needed in equal measure, and had followed him in hopes of getting a little more of that tenderness. 

Instead she had scared him half to death. Even from a few feet away, Jemma’s trained eye could see the rapid rise and fall of Fitz’ chest, and the way his pulse jumped beneath the delicate skin of his throat. Hands out and moving slowly, she took a few steps toward him. 

“That was stupid of me. Given what you’ve told me, I should have known better than to sneak up on you, I just-” Jemma swallowed again, her heart aching for the scared little boy she could see lurking in the blue depths of his eyes. She knew it was an involuntary reaction, but it still hurt her to know that he was now associating her, on some small level, with the way he’d been abused as a child. “I missed you, and wanted to hug you. It was stupid, and I’m sorry.”

Jemma edged as close to him as she dared, eyes trained on his and body language open, leaving it up to Fitz whether or not he wanted to be touched again so soon.

Fitz was still too shaken to tolerate her touching him right at that moment. Instead he sidled away, pulling down a tumbler and pouring himself a double shot of the scotch. It went down quickly, Fitz barely making a face at the burn of the strong liquor. The second one he sipped at, the warmth of the first chasing back the adrenaline that had flooded his body, and letting his nerves settle down. 

He shot her a wild-shy glance, still a bit wide eyed, and took the bottle and his glass out to the living room to curl on the couch, his legs pulled up tight in front of him. 

Jemma was a shadow following after him this time. Fitz could feel her there, and the press of her eyes on him when she sat on the other side of the long sectional couch. She was quiet now, and he wanted to fill that silence, but he wasn’t sure what to say.

Eventually - it felt like forever, but was likely several minutes - Fitz finished the second tumbler of scotch and let out a shuddering sigh. “Is no’ your faul’, okay? I jus’... Is okay tha’ y’ hugged me. If we hadna been drinkin’ y’ would have remembered no’ t’ surprise me with i’.” He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was telling himself that, or reminding her that he knew she wouldn’t intentionally hurt him. Either way, he motioned her over with a tip of his head, drunk enough again to be less wary of her affection. 

Jemma couldn’t help the downward twist of her lips as she watched him, brow furrowed in concern. Part of her was tempted to wallow in guilt, kicking herself for not being more cautious with him, but she resisted its pull. This wasn’t about her; it was about Fitz and making sure he was back at baseline. 

It was a relief when he motioned her over, but still, she was wary. Instead of resuming her previous position, head in his lap, or even sitting as near as she had at the start of the night, Jemma kept a good two foot gap between them, not wanting to invade his space any more than she already had. The only concession she made to her need to touch him was to lay her hand, palm up, in the space between them so he could take it if he wanted. 

For once, Fitz was almost grateful for being drunk, because it would let him fix this - hopefully - without being so terribly awkward. Instead of taking her hand, Fitz set his empty glass aside and closed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “See, look. Is okay, Jem. I mean i’. Y’ jus’ surprised me. Tha’s all.” 

With watery eyes, Jemma shifted, taking care not to break Fitz’ hold on her, so she could wrap her arms about his waist. In the process, her legs wound up tossed over his lap and her head naturally tucked into the space where his neck and shoulder met. Nodding, so he would know she understood him, Jemma clung to him a bit, fingers tangling in the soft material of his shirt.

When she finally felt she had sufficient control of her voice, she murmured, “I’m still sorry, Fitz.” Pulling back, she attempted to give him a smile. “Just another reason I’ll have to make sure I’m around more, hmm?”

He hadn’t thought she’d do all of that, but Fitz found he didn’t mind. If anything, it felt good to have her so close after the past month of uncertainty. And if his eyes were stinging and a little blurred with tears of relief, at least Jemma wasn’t paying any attention to notice them. His other arm came up, leaving them both wrapped snugly around her as Fitz clung to her just as much as she was to him. 

Tipping his head, Fitz laid his cheek against her hair, content to stay right where he was for as long as she’d let him.


	11. Chapter 11

Emotionally exhausted, Jemma and Fitz fell asleep on the sofa, shifting in their sleep to curl up in their now-familiar positions, leaving Jemma pressed between his slender form and the backrest. Their positioning left her waking up with a smile on her face, glad that despite the small dustups from the previous night they could still be this comfortable with each other.

She made them a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, and after they had shared clean up duty, Jemma bid Fitz goodbye with a lingering hug and a promise to check her schedule and call so they could set up time to see each other during the coming week. Her mind drifted over what she wanted to do with her day before she was due back at the hospital, and Jemma was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t notice William leaning against his car a few doors down from her building.

A smile slid onto her face naturally, pleased to see her boyfriend, but fell shortly after as she took in the scowl that was maring his otherwise handsome face. Jemma braced herself. A fight was brewing, and if she had to guess, it would be about the way Fitz had answered her phone last night. And the fact that she had ignored his other six calls this morning. Still, she pressed up onto the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek in greeting and smiled at him. 

“This is a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Can we go in?” William asked, voice terse and foregoing anything that might have resembled a nicety. “I’ve been waiting here a while.”

Jemma let them into both her building and her flat, and William at least had the good grace to let her set down her purse and shrug out of her coat before he started in on what had happened. 

“So, do you let him answer all of your phone calls that way, or was that just for me?”

Jemma suppressed the urge to roll her eyes before answering her boyfriend’s asinine question. “William, I told you where I’d be last night. I explained that I hadn’t seen Fitz in ages and that after blowing him off to take off to Paris with you, I wanted an uninterrupted evening with him.”

William swallowed, square jaw tense as he fidgeted a bit before her. “So you would have rather skipped Paris to be with him? And what am I supposed to think about the fact that you want an uninterrupted evening with another man?”

The question was quiet, but full of venom, and Jemma had to fight to keep her voice from going shrill, her nails biting into the tender flesh of her palms. She didn’t want to have this argument, not now, on the heels of a good night with her best friend that had almost convinced her that she could have both of these men in her life without any major conflicts. That had evidently been a child’s dream.

“That’s not what I said at all, William,” she asserted, voice steady despite the tight lines that made up her shoulders. “I had a wonderful time in Paris, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to see Fitz, too. And we’ve talked about this before, that he has absolutely no interest in me beyond friendship.”

“Right,” William scoffed, his voice rising along with his ardor “because ‘just friends’ have keys to each other’s places and talk constantly and sleep over at each other’s flats without speaking to their significant others first. Seriously, Jemma, what would you make of it if I told you I wanted to spend half of my free time with another woman?”

“I wouldn’t think anything of it, William, because it comes down to trust.” Jemma brushed past him so she could hold open her door. “Whether your friend was gay, straight, or somewhere in between, I would trust that you meant it when you said you were committed to me, and I’d like to think I’d be able to respect your friendship with another woman enough to not let it bother me.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat, not liking the words that were set to claw their way out, but knowing they needed to be said. “That’s all I have to say on the subject. If you simply cannot accept that and do me the same courtesy, then we’re through and you need to leave.”

They stood like that for a long moment, both weighing what they wanted from each other. Eventually, William mumbled an apology and swore he trusted her. For her part, though, Jemma wasn’t sure if she was more relieved that he had stayed, or concerned that she had even had to give him such an ultimatum in the first place. 

~*~

Despite Jemma’s visit, or perhaps because of it, Fitz felt like he was at loose ends for the next couple of days and ended up dragging himself downtown again on a weeknight instead of his usual Friday. While he was expecting the crowd to be thinner, and it definitely was, he wasn’t expecting to run into Anthony. 

Not that he really ran into him, exactly. 

Rather that Fitz was out dancing, someone sidled up behind him, and he turned to find the dark-haired, green-eyed man there with a saucy grin on his face. 

Somehow Fitz found himself dancing with the other man for most of the night, although a few other people cut in for a bit. He caught himself wondering if maybe Jemma had been right, that his self-imposed moratorium on dating and relationships was only doing him harm, shutting him off from people that he might otherwise have at least a friendship with. 

And so when last call came around and Anthony quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded toward the door, Fitz went along with him, deciding to give the man a chance this time instead of sending him on his way at the first opportunity. Which meant sticking around for brunch when Anthony curled against his back and asked him to stay instead of heading home in the wee hours of the morning. 

Unfortunately that turned into a complete disaster. 

In the light of day, outside of the persona he put on for the club, Fitz was back to his usual self, slightly awkward and sometimes at too high a level of conversation for most people to follow. Just when he thought he’d gotten comfortable enough with Anthony to mitigate some of that, they arrived at brunch and Fitz found this was a tradition for Anthony and his own friends - and he certainly didn’t fit in with that group. The lot of them either worked at the same health club with Anthony or were members… and most of them were rather stereotypical shallow early 20-somethings. 

He struggled through the meal, only because Anthony had let him borrow a set of clothes. His own were at Anthony’s house and Fitz wanted them back.

No sooner had the door shut behind them in Anthony’s living room, the other man rounded on Fitz, looking confused and upset. “You know, I don’t get you, Fitz. I’ve seen three different versions of you now and none of them make sense to me. Which one is real? Do you even know? Everyone at the club told me I was crazy to try for more than fucking around with you, but you’re cute and you’re obviously smart and you don’t give a shit about trying to fit in with any of those arseholes. I was intrigued, but then that thing happened with that bird showing up at your flat and I thought maybe you were one of those guys who only messes with other guys when your girlfriend isn’t around or something.”

Fitz stood stock-still in the middle of the room, stunned and speechless while Anthony continued. He’d known this morning hadn’t gone well, but he hadn’t expected to hear anything like this. If anything, Fitz was fully expecting Anthony to be pissed, not to sound genuinely upset. 

“I must be a glutton for punishment, trying again, but what the hell was that this morning? You’re like an entirely different person. You could barely talk to me this morning and then you’re rude to my friends at brunch. So which one is it? Is it the confident Fitz I see at the club every week, or the little glimpse of a nice guy I saw that morning with your friend, or the asshole I saw this morning? You know what? Don’t even answer that, because I don’t think it even matters. But you should think about that. Really.” 

Anthony stepped out of Fitz’ way, letting him further into the house so Fitz could grab his clothes and change again, snatching his phone and heading for the door. “Look, I dinna know wha’ t’ tell y’, Anthony. Y’ dinna know me any more than I know y’. You’re makin’ a pretty big assumption based on wha’? A couple hours? Drunk a’ the club an’ fuckin’ aroun’ doesna really coun’. Look, I had fun las’ nigh’. An’ started t’ enjoy this mornin’ before your friends go’ involved. Bu’ wha’ever. I’ll see y’ a’ the club again, sometime. Maybe.” 

The whole thing felt strange and awkward, and Fitz wasn’t even angry. Couldn’t be, really. This was why he didn’t date. It always turned out wrong. And he did have a good time last night. It was this morning that got ugly. Same as last time around. But who knew. Anthony was silent, and Fitz’ mouth pressed into a tight line before he shrugged and yanked the door open, leaving without saying a proper goodbye. 

By the time he got home to Highgate, Fitz wanted nothing more than a long shower and to crawl into bed for an hour or two before heading into the lab for the afternoon and evening. 

He got an irate Jemma, instead. 

She had let herself in shortly after seven, intent on making the most of her day off by spending time with Fitz in the morning before seeing William for lunch. However, instead of the faint sounds of a snoring, slumbering Fitz, she had been greeted by total silence. 

It unnerved her.

Even those times when she had slept over, his flat had never seemed quite this quiet, almost as if everything were poised in anticipation of some momentous event. Lips pursed, Jemma roamed from room to room, calling softly for Fitz, but to no avail. 

It was unusual for him to be up this early, unless he had something big going on at his lab… Jemma supposed that it was possible, although she thought he would have surely mentioned it when they’d been texting back and forth earlier in the week. Work and school had certainly come up enough, since she knew those were safe topics to discuss with her curly haired Scot. 

The frustrating thing was, that was all they ever talked about these days, nothing truly personal, since every time she even mentioned William, she found herself walking on eggshells. It was a shame, because she would have killed to have Fitz’ opinion about what to do with the man. Ever since their argument about her spending the night with Fitz, William had been distant and moody, doting one moment and surly the next, and it was beginning to tax Jemma’s nerves. 

That was a problem for another time, however, and Jemma reached into her pocket for her mobile, intent on texting her best friend. 

Fitz [07:23]: Popped by your flat to surprise you for breakfast. Should I bring coffee to the lab instead?

Satisfied that she would hear from him soon, as he never failed to text her back in a timely manner, Jemma tugged one of the well-worn paperbacks from his numerous shelves and settled into the coziest section of the sofa to read. She was through chapter three when she finally gave in and checked her phone, causing her heart to sink in worry. 

Still no message from Fitz. 

She called next, and for the following 90 minutes alternated between calling and texting in hopes of getting a response, only to be rewarded with his voicemail and a notification-less screen. In her worry, she began to call around to area hospitals, asking if a young, Scottish man fitting Fitz’ description had been brought in, but nothing came up. When it finally reached 10:40, and she realized there was no way she’d get to William by 11, she called him to cancel. To add insult to injury, William didn’t even seem that distressed that he wouldn’t be seeing her, and hung up without really responding to any of suggestions for alternative plans. 

So, Jemma sat on Fitz’ sectional, trying to read but actually stewing over what had happened so far this morning, and going over and over what, exactly, she’d say to Leopold Fitz when he managed to make his way back home. 

The scrape of Fitz’ key in the lock seemed artificially loud in the quiet stillness of his flat, causing Jemma to shoot off of the sofa and over to the door. That was where she was standing when a frazzled looking Fitz finally stumbled in, and she ground out, “Where the bloody hell were you?” 

Fitz' mind was preoccupied with Anthony's comments and he wasn't at his best on so little sleep anyway. It took him a moment too long to realize that one, Jemma was there, and two, she was brassed off at him. 

Confused and startled on top of everything else, he brushed past her to peel out of his coat, revealing he was still in his clothes from the night before. "I was out. Wha' are y' yellin' a' me for?"

“Oh, you were out!” Jemma answered, well aware of how shrill her voice must have sounded. Still, she didn’t really give a damn. He had frightened her by not answering. “Who goes out without their mobile? I assume you don’t have it on you, because that’s the only acceptable reason I can see for why you wouldn’t answer my texts!”

Now Fitz was starting to understand. "Yeah, I took it. An' it died sometime early this mornin'. I didna have a charger an' I was caugh’ up with other things. Sorry." Honestly, he was a bit irritated that she was yelling at him after the morning he'd had, but he was tired enough that anger was slow in coming.

Jemma’s brow furrowed and she licked her lips as she processed what he had said. 

“Caught up with other things?” Jemma’s voice was low and dangerous as she glared at him, fists balled up at her sides. “What other things, Fitz? What was so bloody important that you couldn’t bother to stay in contact with the world? What, were you just banking on somebody else calling you an ambulance to take you to A&E if something happened to you? Again?!”

Now Fitz was angry. First that she was yelling at him for something that was an accident - he hadn’t planned on going home with anyone last night and hadn’t fully charged his phone before going out - and second, that she was questioning his judgment. “First o’ all, tha’ doesna even bloody coun’ anymore, Jemma! I’ve totally changed how I drink a’ the club so tha’ has no goddamned chance o’ ever happenin’ again. Secon’ of all, las’ time I checked, you’re no’ my mother. An’ I’m an adul’. If I decide t’ go ou’ and I decide t’ no’ come home, an’ I decide t’ stick aroun’ the nex’ mornin’ tha’s my decision t’ make. Now I’m sorry y’ got yourself all worked up int’ a bloody swivet, but las’ time I checked, we didna have plans for this morning. How in bloody hell would I have even known I needed t’ check in with y’? Chris’, for the last fuckin’ month, I migh’ as well no’ have even existed, as much attention as y’ paid me. An’ now I have had a shite mornin’ an’ I dinna want t’ deal wi’ this, so maybe y’ should go.” 

He finally broke off his rant, face flushed and breathing heavily as he stared at her. Fitz couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry with anyone, much less Jemma. 

Jemma went stock still but for the angry tremble in her arms and legs. 

She had fought with William for this? She had canceled plans and rededicated herself to being in touch with him for him to yell at her when she was worried about him? Jemma Simmons was caring and kind and thoughtful, but what she wasn’t was a pushover. 

“Fuck you, Fitz.” 

She let the words drop with a soft scoff, taking an almost vindictive glee in watching his face fall as they pressed in against his ear drums. 

“All I’ve heard from you lately is that I haven’t spent enough time with you, and you know what? You were right. So I decided to make the effort, to make you a priority and spend more time with you… and this is what I get? This is what I had to cancel my plans with William for? Why I basically told him that if he would make me pick between the two of you, it’d be you every time? To be yelled at by my best friend when all I’m worried about is his welfare?

“Fuck you.”

Shaking with repressed anger, Jemma snatched up her coat and her bag and stomped out into the sloppy winter afternoon without a glance back. 

“Fuck me? Ge’ in line, because I’ve already been there and done that this mornin’ in more ways than one. An’ three days of textin’ doesna make up for thirty-seven of you no’ bein’ around. Yes, I counted. So if tha’s how this is goin’ t’ be, tha’ you’ve go’ some guilt complex goin’ on because now you’re tryin’ t’ make i’ up to me? I didna make you cancel your plans. Keep on walkin’, lass, because I dinna need your pity.” Fitz almost snarled the words at her back, so completely furious that it was blocking every other emotion.

He slammed the door shut on their angry words and flung himself down on the couch, fuming. 

~*~

Jemma was miserable. 

It had been three days since her blowout with Fitz, and she still felt her blood boil when she thought about the things he’d said to her, and worse, those he’d shouted at her back. She kept vacillating between anger, guilt, and sorrow, only to find herself paralyzed by all three. 

Work helped. She was able to lose herself there, caring for patients and picking apart the puzzle of their injuries, but today… today left her rattling about her suddenly too large flat. It wasn’t bad, for a Sunday morning in early March, typically the kind of day where she would have asked Fitz if he wanted to do something before her shift, but she very well couldn’t call him now. Not with such angry words still left between them.

Adding insult to injury, she had tried to call William, thinking he would be more than happy to get some quality time with his girlfriend. Instead she got some flimsy excuse about a family obligation and a brisk goodbye, without even a hint of the “miss you” he usually would have tacked on.

So, lonely and feeling wretched, Jemma crawled back into her too-large bed and pulled the covers over her head, intent on crying herself out before she had to face the world. 

~*~

Fitz was on his therapist’s couch. 

Again. 

It was the third time in ten days, because Dr. Thornton felt he was unstable right now and needed some extra time with her. 

Which was probably true, not that Fitz would admit it. 

It had taken until now, after ten days of numb resignation at his own stupidity and hubris and pride, to admit that he’d fucked everything up. For him to feel anything besides numb. For him to break down and cry for what he’d cost himself. 

After all thirty-seven days spent waiting on her to remember he was there, Fitz had shoved Jemma away in the most painful way possible just when they’d started to make things right again. He’d broken, probably irreparably, the only friendship he’d ever had that had actually meant something to him. And because of that, everything else in his life felt like it was fracturing apart around him. 

He couldn’t focus in the lab and missed an important deadline. He’d nearly gotten into a fistfight with one of Anthony’s friends at the club. He sure as hell wasn’t sleeping much. And when he did, there were unsettling, senseless dreams involving him and Jemma and a bed, which left him awake and aroused and utterly confused. His therapist still didn’t know about those and he didn’t intend for her to. 

Dr. Thornton reluctantly handed him a prescription for five lonely sleeping pills and Fitz finally understood that despite his denial that he was thinking about that - because he truly wasn’t - she considered him a suicide risk right now. 

Fitz really wanted to throw the script away, just for spite, but he needed to sleep - dreamlessly - too much. 

~*~

“We made plans for tonight.”

Jemma stood in the midst of the Woodward family home in Belgravia, dressed with her make up done and hair half complete, staring in disbelief at William’s broad back. She was fascinated by the pull of his muscles beneath his white button down as he sat to put on his shoes, so much so that she couldn’t bring herself to focus on his words. Or perhaps it was just that she didn’t want to focus on them. 

“Jemma, I told you,” he spat out as he bent at the waist to check his laces, “something came up at work. I have to entertain a client. So, I’m sorry to cancel again, but I really have no choice. I can't help that Howard keeps scheduling these late engagements.” 

Scooping up his jacket in one hand, he stood and strode over to her. Jemma willed herself not to cry, and set her teeth into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling as she looked up at him. He looked like the same handsome man she’d been involved with for weeks, funny and intelligent with a thrilling wicked streak, but his eyes… they didn’t seem to hold the same affection they had before. 

“Yeah, fine. I’ll just gather my things and go…”

“No, don’t do that,” William insisted, voice soft as he stopped her with a hand gently curled around her bicep. The other he brought to cup her cheek, thumb brushing delicately across her skin and causing her to involuntarily lean into the touch. “Stay, Jemma. I mean it. I shouldn’t be too late, or at least not as late as last time, hopefully. Besides,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her softly, “we can try some of those things we didn’t get to this afternoon when I get back, yes?”

Suddenly, his eyes looked the same as they always did, causing a blush to rise in Jemma’s cheeks. Nodding her agreement, she kissed him once more as a farewell before curling up in the mussed bed with the book she’d accidentally taken from Fitz. 

~*~

Fitz leaned back against the bar at the new club, his engineer’s eye admiring the design. Someone had found an old architectural gem and remodeled it into a high-end dance club. If it hadn’t been for a personal invitation from one of his favorite dance partners - an older guy who had never made so much as a pass at Fitz, only wanted to dance - he’d never have gotten in on his own. This place was way too high-class for him. 

It also didn’t cater to the gay community, which put him a little off-balance. 

The central columns, rising four floors to a soaring dome and supporting the multiple balconies, were subtly curved to improve the acoustics, the driving beat of the song playing thumping through the space with minimal echo, but making it feel like the bassline had taken over the beat of your heart. Fitz turned his attention back to the bar, waiting his turn to be served and quickly downing his usual three shots before heading out to dance. 

There was a gorgeous couple on the floor, and even though he wasn’t into women, Fitz couldn’t help but admire both of them. Bombshell curves were draped in vivid blue cut low over pale skin and topped with long blonde hair. Natural, if her eyebrows were any indication. The guy looked awfully familiar though, and it took Fitz a minute before his eyes narrowed. Was that William? 

It was a sharp reminder of Jemma, a painful one, and Fitz was torn between getting a closer look and walking away. By the time he made up his mind to go and make sure, the couple was gone. Fitz spent a half hour looking through the other floors, but they’d disappeared. Either upstairs to the even more ritzy VIP area, or left altogether. 

Not too long later, Fitz decided it was time for him to go as well. 

~*~

It took until the last week of March before Fitz had wrangled his way somewhat through his tangled feelings toward Jemma, her relationship with William, his friendship with her, and oddly enough, his own feelings about himself. He was still confused, hurting, and had a lot to think about, but Fitz finally accepted that he was better with Jemma. And that she was worth more to him than his pride. 

He wasn’t sure she’d answer a call or a text, and given the things he’d said to her, aiming them to hurt, Fitz thought (and Dr. Thornton agreed) it would be better to communicate with her in a way that would give her time to think and consider without being too assumptive. 

And so Fitz found himself at a florist’s shop, looking at books of arrangements. None of them were right, and it was frustrating him. So when a sales clerk passed him by and asked if he needed help, Fitz sucked in a breath and nodded. “These are all… too much. Too formal, I guess. I need t’ make an apology an’ I dinna want i’ t’ seem like I didna put any though’ into i’.” 

The clerk nodded and pulled out another binder, this one of various types of flowers. “What’s your lady like? Er, or gentleman, I suppose. Personality, attitude. Prim and proper? Wild and adventurous?” 

Fitz told her a bit about Jemma, and after a bit of debate she gave him some suggestions on types of flowers. Once he’d picked, she went in the back and fetched actual flowers for him to see and approve before starting work on his custom arrangement. The lilies and dahlias in a similar red and white hybrid pattern were stunning with the addition of ivy and baby’s breath. He hesitated before writing on the card, but settled on simple words his neatly printed handwriting. 

I’m so sorry. Can we talk? - Fitz


	12. Chapter 12

A sharp, teasing whistle broke through the slowly calming bustle of the A&E ward, causing Jemma’s head to jerk upright as she searched for the noise. One of the night nurses, a kindly, slightly matronly woman with silvery hair was the culprit, if her wide smile was anything to go by. She was carrying a large bouquet of red and white flowers, and was headed straight for the desk where Jemma was attempting to work.

Her mood hadn’t improved any over the last few days; if anything it has sunk even lower than she’d thought possible. Now, not only was she no longer speaking with Fitz (if they could even still be called friends), but William was behaving oddly as well. He swore up and down it was just stress at work, but she saw him even more infrequently now, and when they did get time alone, their version of a date had degenerated into falling into bed as quickly as possible. And then, he would be right back out the door before the sheets had even cooled. 

They had fought about it yesterday, and Jemma still hadn’t been able to settle her nerves. 

“Dr. Simmons, these were left for you down at the main desk. So… what’d he do?”

The question was asked with a knowing smile, and Jemma gave her a polite nod in response. The things William had said yesterday… his words had been harsh, to say the least, and she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him, no matter how beautiful or expensive the flowers. In fact, she was rather tempted to dump them straight in the garbage as a concession to her lingering anger, but her upbringing wouldn’t allow her to throw such a childish fit. 

Instead, she delicately dug among the blooms for the card she knew would be there, admiring the dahlias and lilies as she did so. Their coloring was unusual, strikingly beautiful splashes of red against white, and Jemma found herself admitting that William had done a much better job picking this arrangement than he had with the standard roses she’d received for Valentine’s. 

Finding the card, she slipped it from its envelope and flipped it open, her face a mask of indifference. That mask quickly fell away however, when she saw the neat, blocky script on the card. 

Fitz. Fitz had sent her flowers, and the realization brought instant tears to her eyes. She had been wrong, they weren’t beyond hope, and all of the anger and frustration she’d been carrying broke within her, giving way to relief. 

Clutching the card between two fingers of her left hand, Jemma fumbled through her pockets for her mobile. Her hand shook a bit and it took her several tries to unlock the screen, but once she finally did, she fired off a text. 

Fitz [20:44]: Of course we can talk. I’ll be by at 8.

Fitz had asked for the flowers to be delivered around 8:15, figuring Jemma would be out in the ward by then. As the minutes ticked by, he wondered if she’d gotten them yet. Whether she was happy about it or if she was still angry enough to shove them aside. If he’d upset her again. If he’d hear from her or if the silence would continue. 

When his phone buzzed on the table, Fitz climbed off the couch and approached it warily. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw she’d texted, even as he blinked at the content. She wanted to come up here. He’d figured she’d ask to meet on neutral ground. Maybe the diner by the hospital where they’d had breakfast so many times… Jemma asking to come to his flat gave him hope that all was not lost. 

Jemma [20:45]: Guess I should clean then?   
Jemma [20:45]: See you at 8.

Jemma’s nerves began to jangle as she exited the Underground station, and she shifted the weight of her arrangement from one arm to another in an attempt to calm them. She did her best to remind herself that Fitz had sent her flowers; clearly, he wanted them to reconcile, but a tiny part of Jemma’s brain still nagged at her. 

What if her words had been too harsh?

What if they really had done irreparable damage to their relationship?

That thought killed Jemma. Fitz was the only true friend she had made in 23 years, the only person who hadn’t had an agenda as soon as he met her family or realized just how much money she’d come into one day. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him; he was easily the most precious part of her life, and she’d nearly lost him.

That thought was ringing through her mind when she came to a stop outside of his door. Jemma stared at it, confounded for a minute. Three weeks ago, she would have merely used her key and let herself in. Now… now she feared that was an imposition. Careful not to drop her flowers, Jemma extended one arm and delicately rapped her knuckles just below the tiny window. 

Fitz’ clock had literally just clicked over to 8:01 when the knock came, and he shoved his hands in his pockets as soon as he opened the door. Just seeing her standing there, looking small and hesitant, the vase with her flowers clutched in her hands, twisted his heart. 

For a second he panicked, wondering why she’d brought the flowers with her, before he remembered Jemma had come straight from work. Of course she wouldn’t have left them there. There was a long pause as they stared at each other, and then Fitz shook himself, stepping back and aside so Jemma could come in. 

She set the flowers down and shrugged out of her coat, and Fitz couldn’t help but reach toward her. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in a hug and apologize again, directly this time, but he was the one who had fucked everything up by losing his temper. When he’d gotten his phone properly charged Fitz had seen the number of calls and texts she’d left him that morning, her messages getting increasingly desperate and worried as the hours had gone on. And so he wasn’t sure if he should be the one to initiate the hug. 

Jemma still might be intending to end their friendship, after all. 

She saw the way Fitz had reached for her, and before either of them could change their minds or ruin things by over thinking, flung herself towards him. She struck him square in the chest, her arms wrapping tightly about his waist as she buried her face in his shoulder. Jemma’s tears were suddenly streaking down her face, soaking his shirt once more as they had all those months ago when they had first cemented their friendship.

“Fitz,” she sobbed, “Fitz, I’m so sorry, I- I- I was such a wretched bitch, you didn’t deserve what I said.” 

That was all she could choke out before relief-fueled tears overtook her once more and she had to give up on using her words. 

The force of her body pushed him back against the wall of his narrow foyer, but Fitz stayed right where he was as Jemma wrapped herself around him, clinging. 

Mostly because he was clinging right back. 

Fitz’ arms found their way around her, one at Jemma’s shoulders, one at her waist, holding on tight. His nose was buried in her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder and he shushed her gently. “Jem. Jemma, shh. Shh, lass. No. I shouldna have yelled. I’d had an awful mornin’ an’ I took i’ out on y’. I didna know y’ had been here for hours, worryin’. I’m an asshole, I know. I’m so sorry. Shhhhh.” 

She didn’t seem to be calming much, but Fitz didn’t let go. When he ran out of words, he only held on a little tighter and rocked them both slightly. 

His arms were strong, stronger than she expected, where they wrapped around her, and the last bit of her concern broke as she finally knew that Fitz wouldn’t let her go. Not for the world, if the grip he had on her was any indication. With that emotional realization, and Fitz whispering gently in her ear, Jemma was slowly, very slowly, able to get herself back under control. When her tears had slowed to a trickle and she was no longer struggling to breathe, she raised her head so she could make herself more easily understood. 

“We need to talk through this, Fitz. We can’t avoid it. But how about we at least move to the sofa?” She didn’t give voice to her thoughts, but Jemma was hoping he’d let her cuddle up to him a bit, wanting her close, as they did wade through the damage they’d done. 

Fitz winced at the sight of her reddened, tear-stained face. He might have teared up a bit too, but Jemma looked a mess. “Yeah. I’d like t’ get all this cleared up, too,” he nodded. “An’ we can move, bu’...” Fitz gentled his voice, unsure if he could manage teasing as emotional as he felt right now, “You’re a mess, lass. Go blow your nose an’ all tha’. I’ll pu’ the kettle on an’ we can settle down t’ talk with a cuppa?” 

Jemma was hesitant to let him go, unwilling to put distance between them when they’d been apart for so long, but she saw the way Fitz was looking at her. He wouldn’t go anywhere, no more than he’d let her get too far away. She also saw the sense in his words, and gingerly pulled away to make her way to his bathroom. 

When she emerged a few minutes later, hair finger combed and tear stains mostly washed from her cheeks, Jemma found Fitz situated on the sofa, two steaming mugs before him on the coffee table. She gave him a fond smile as she crossed the room, and sat as close to him as she could without putting herself in his lap, their sides pressed flush to the back of the sofa and knees brushing. Satisfied that he wouldn’t ask her to move away from him, Jemma leaned to the side to grasp the mug nearest to her before sinking back into the plush cushions. 

“So, I guess I should star’ a’ the beginnin’...” Fitz sighed, knowing this was going to be a tough conversation. He went back to the real beginning of their problems, when Jemma had first started dating William, and finally, truthfully and entirely admitted just how badly it had bothered him when Jemma started prioritizing her boyfriend over him. The loneliness and the resentment that had built up, and the way he’d promised himself that he’d try to be an adult about it and not pressure her to choose between the two of them. How Jemma’s choice to go to Paris had hurt. 

He’d gotten up to the point just before their drunken movie night when Fitz had to stop and suck in a breath because all the pent up emotion was getting to him. 

Fitz didn’t mean it to hurt her so badly, she knew that, but it didn’t stop it from happening anyway. Hearing how each of her careless actions had hurt him tore at her anew, and Jemma began to realize just how lucky she was that Fitz was even willing to still speak with her, let alone be anywhere near her. It was far more than she deserved from him. Removing a hand from her mug, Jemma gently laid a hand over Fitz’ knee. 

“That’s all my fault, Fitz. I never should have let it get that far. You’re not the only one who struggled to act like an adult, and you still did a better job than me. I should have known better than to put blinders on and go moon-eyed over a boyfriend.” 

Feeling raw after saying so much all at once, Fitz tangled his fingers with hers and held on while he told the rest. How he’d struggled with her scaring him on their movie night when she’d known he had trouble being touched. Wondering if she was only texting him again out of guilt. Being lonely and going to the club and meeting up with Anthony. All the way up until that disastrous moment when he’d walked in his door to Jemma’s “where the bloody hell have you been?” 

He gave her a tight smile, sheepish and sad. “So a lo’ of this is my faul’. We’re adults. I could have sat y’ down a’ any time and told y’ all this an’ I didn’. I though’ I was doin’ the righ’ thing by backin’ off and lettin’ y’ be happy with him. An’ tha’ las’ day…” Fitz sighed, looking thoroughly miserable. “It had all jus’ come down on my head while I was comin’ home. Not jus’ Anthony, bu’ everythin’. I’ was the absolute wors’ possible time for me t’ run into y’ unexpectedly, much less have y’ so angry. I’m sorry, lass.” 

Eyes trained on their entwined fingers, Jemma gave Fitz’ hand a gentle squeeze before she could bring herself to look him in the eye. She hadn’t been entirely oblivious; she had eventually realized that her relationship with William bothered Fitz, but she hadn’t done anything to alleviate his discomfort. She’d been content to ignore it and hope it went away. 

“Fitz, the happiest I’ve been is when I’m able to talk to you freely. I’m sorry I made it difficult for you to speak to me. I hope you can forgive me.”

She gave him a small smile and forced her breath through her lips before continuing. “That morning… it’s no excuse, but I was so scared. That’s why I yelled. I was terrified something had happened to you and I couldn’t help.” She told him about the nearly four hours she’d spent in his flat, calling not only him but hospitals looking for him, afraid that something had happened to him because he’d gone out alone. 

“I know you’re an adult, Fitz, and a capable one at that, but you’re still my best friend in the world. I’ll worry over you regardless of whether it’s a logical worry.” She gave his hand another squeeze before setting her empty mug aside. “And I’m sorry that Anthony wound up being such an arse. But, it’s always the cute ones, right?”

Fitz’ heart twisted at her admission of how frightened she’d been. He’d heard her voicemails and seen the texts, but he hadn’t known that she’d gone so far as to call the A&E departments at the hospitals, hoping she wouldn’t find that he’d been admitted. He immediately shrugged off her comment about Anthony though. “I dinna know, lass. He migh’ have had a poin’, abou’ me behavin’ one way when I’m ou’ and then differently when I’m alone with someone. Is why I dinna date. There’s no’ very many people I can be comfortable with on my own.” 

“There’s been more since, bu’... tha’ was mostly because I still wasna handling y’ no’ bein’ around very well.” He glanced at the clock and realized just talking through their sides of everything leading up to the fight had taken more than an hour. Closer to two, actually. One shoulder lifted and Fitz’ blue eyes tracked back to her, his expression shy as he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and withdrew. “I need a minute or two. Be righ’ back.” 

He escaped to the bathroom, not only to pee but to collect his emotions. This was hard - even harder than he’d expected - but Fitz felt like they might finally be in the clear. Everything else would hopefully just be catching each other up on what had happened the last three weeks they hadn’t been talking. Minus Fitz’ suspicion that he’d seen William out with another woman. 

Detouring to the kitchen on his way back earned him two bottles of water, which he brought back out to the couch, and the realization that Jemma had huddled into the corner of his couch in his absence, tucked under the heavy blanket he’d bought for her weeks ago and she’d only gotten to use that once. “Jemma?” he called softly, unsure, as he sat close to her side. “Y’ okay?” 

After a long moment of hesitation, Fitz let out a soft noise, frustrated with himself, and awkwardly curled up at her side, slouching enough that he could tip his head against Jemma’s shoulder. 

She had crawled under the blanket after watching him slip off the sofa, as her emotional high faded and her taxing hours caught up with her. Jemma was in a rather frustrating kind of twilight, caught between being too weary to keep her eyes open but not tired enough to actually drop off. She felt Fitz when he sat next to her, dipping the cushion beneath him and causing her to lean a bit his way. Lifting a bit of the blanket from her face so she could see him clearly, Jemma took one look at his awkward positioning and came to a decision. 

“Here, stretch out,” she commanded positioning herself on her side with her back pressed to the back of the sectional. There was enough room for Fitz to lie on his back, head propped on the armrest and for Jemma to wedge herself comfortably between him and the sofa. Once they were settled, she tugged the blanket over them both and snuggled in against his side. Glancing up from where she had pillowed her head on his shoulder, Jemma nibbled her lower lip and ventured a question. 

“Is this all right, or too much?”

“Is fine,” he murmured. Which was such an understatement it was almost laughable. It was the first time he’d felt normal since the day she’d taken William to the gallery opening more than two months ago. Fitz wanted to continue their conversation and get caught up, but he reminded himself Jemma had been up all night on shift and had to be exhausted. “Do y’ have plans for this afternoon? Because I’m thinkin’ is time for a nap an’ we can talk more later?”

“Nope,” Jemma answered, popping the ‘p’ before she nearly cracked her jaw on a wide yawn. “I’m yours for the day.” 

She nearly mentioned that he was certifiable if he thought she’d dream of going anywhere else, but she was so pleased to be cuddled up against Fitz that any thought to tease him flew out of her mind. Instead, she dropped into a restful doze, her arms snugged around her best friend’s waist. 

~*~ 

Fitz woke to the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. Except when he fumbled for the phone that was insistently vibrating against his hip, it turned out to be in Jemma’s pocket instead. Very carefully extricating his hand from what seemed to be a far too intimate place for it to be, Fitz nudged Jemma awake. “Jem, your phone’s ringin’, lass.” He knew it was likely William, but on the off chance it was her work, she needed to field the call and make the choice to answer or not. 

Groggy, and more than a tad grumpy, Jemma forced her eyes open, no mean feat given how comfortable she was. Tossing Fitz a look that could most easily be called apologetic, she wiggled a bit to free up enough room so she could slip her phone from her pocket. Blinking to clear her vision, Jemma frowned when she saw William’s face on her screen. 

She was tempted to just ignore it; something had been off between herself and William for the past few weeks, and more and more she found herself annoyed by him more than she found tolerable but couldn’t bring herself to do that. Better to answer and get this over with than deal with it later. 

“Hello?” She muttered, her head dropping back to its previous position on Fitz’ shoulder. “No, I didn’t pick up extra hours, I’m at Fitz’... Does it matter? You said you had lunch plans today, that’s why we agreed to dinner… Why am I not surprised he scheduled another client for tonight?” Jemma’s tone had grown steadily more terse as she spoke, clearly annoyed by William and his excuses. “No, William, I will not break my own plans to accommodate Harold’s yet again. We agreed on dinner tonight, and that’s that… Fine, do what you’d like. You always do anyway.” 

Annoyed and more than a little hurt, Jemma sat up as she ended the conversation and flipped her phone toward the far end of the couch. “Bloody tosser, interrupting my nap for that.” Her disgust appropriately expressed, Jemma settled back against Fitz and tried to calm herself by listening to the beating of his heart and the steady rise and fall of his breathing. 

Fitz was still half-asleep himself, letting his head fall down against the pillow once Jemma roused herself to deal with the call. His arm curled back around her when she resettled against his shoulder, but Fitz stilled as he listened to Jemma’s brief conversation. He was quiet for a bit after she hung up, musing whether this was something he wanted to get into with her or not. But the reality of it was that no matter how much he disliked William, Jemma was his priority, and she was unhappy. Fitz would listen if she wanted, and try his best to advise her without bias. 

After a few minutes had passed, Fitz tipped his head down toward hers. “Want t’ talk abou’ i’?” he asked gently. From the sound of it, something had gone wrong while he and Jemma hadn’t been talking. 

Just as Jemma was thinking how lucky she was to have a friend like Fitz who didn’t pry, the Scot spoke up, brogue gentle in the dim light as he asked her what was wrong. She screwed her eyes shut and nibbled at her lip, debating how much she wanted to say. Overindulging about her relationship with William had strained their friendship almost to the point of breaking, and Jemma certainly wasn’t willing to do that again, not when she’d just gotten Fitz back. On the other hand, though, their problems had stemmed from a lack of clear communication, and he had asked. 

“Call it karma,” she whispered into his chest with a sigh. “All of the sudden, he’s getting called in to work at all hours to entertain and work with clients. Says the office clerk, Harold, is responsible for the scheduling, but I don’t know, to be honest.” Jemma ducked her head, wanting to hide her blush even though she knew Fitz couldn’t very well see her face. “When we do get time together, it’s a quick date, a quick shag, and then he’s out the door. And when we do have sex…” 

Jemma trailed off, thinking about how their sex lives had changed and cringed. Fitz didn’t need to know about that, even if he had asked. “Let’s just say, something feels off. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“‘M sorry, lass,” Fitz murmured. He almost wanted to ask about the other night, when he thought he’d seen William, to see if that was one of the times he’d canceled on her, but couldn’t think of a way to say it that wouldn’t seem suspicious. 

The way she ducked against his shoulder spoke to her embarrassment, and Fitz let her get away with that only because he understood. Being at a point where you had to question a relationship with someone was not a comfortable feeling. He’d already been there recently, with her. And as for Fitz, he’d only been able to keep his mouth shut about William because Jemma had seemed happy. Now that he knew otherwise… And now that they were on the same page again, Fitz wouldn’t be so reticent about speaking up. 

“An’ I think I’d be suspicious o’ all those clien’ meetings, too. Dinners, I could understan’, bu’ even if they lingered over cocktails, I canna see them runnin’ tha’ late. Or why y’ couldna go with him,” Fitz murmured, giving her a little squeeze. “Y’ have good instincts, lass. If somethin’ feels off, i’ probably is.” 

Jemma shrugged again in response. She realized that it really was a matter of when, not if, she ended things with William. She just hadn’t found the right moment, or when she thought she had, he did something sweet or ridiculously romantic and made her doubt herself all over again. It wasn’t pleasant to dwell on, and she shook the thought from her head. 

“Today should be a happy day,” she told Fitz in earnest. “I just got my best friend back. We should do something to celebrate. Any ideas?”

Fitz’ mouth turned down a little at her dismissive little shrug and the change of subject. Knowing Jemma was unhappy didn’t sit well with him, but if she didn’t want to dwell on it, the least he could do was give her something to think about. “I still need t’ spend some time in the lab today,” Fitz admitted. He hadn’t planned on her responding to his flowers so quickly and hadn’t prepared as well as he could have. “The Natural History museum is righ’ down the street from there, though. Want to pop in an’ look around a bi’?” 

It’d be convenient for her to get home from there without much trouble, too. 

As disappointed as she was at hearing she couldn’t spend the entire day with Fitz, the idea of wandering the museum with him curled to corners of her mouth upward. With her palm planted squarely in the center of his chest, Jemma sat up and nodded. 

“A few hours at the museum sounds wonderful.”

And it was. They spent the better part of the afternoon there, wandering between exhibits and even into the gift shop, their conversation moving easily between work, school, projects, patients, and inside jokes. Jemma wasn’t all that surprised then when she found herself wondering why she and William hadn’t had a date nearly as entertaining in ages, and that concern lingered long after she bid Fitz goodbye at Imperial College and made her way back to her flat.

It hadn’t been the first time the thought flitted across her mind that Fitz would be a rather perfect boyfriend, if he were interested in women. Part of her wondered if that hadn’t contributed, at least in part, to the deterioration of her relationship. She had been content to rely on Fitz to meet her emotional needs and let William pick up the physical. When she had tried to rely on William for both, she had found him sorely wanting. 

The thought weighed on her conscience unpleasantly, and Jemma tried to lose herself in a book. She eventually succeeded, and fell asleep stretched out on her sofa, the tome resting on her chest.


	13. Chapter 13

The next couple of weeks were a relief for Fitz after the chaos of February and March and he was quite pleased to report back to Dr. Thornton that he no longer needed the sleeping pills. The dreams hadn’t stopped, but he was able to fall asleep on his own without chemical assistance and he didn’t feel exhausted all the time now. 

Jemma was definitely putting in more effort and he didn’t have the resentful feeling anymore whenever she mentioned William, only concern. Especially since the mentions of her boyfriend were now usually tinged with some sort of upset at the way she was being treated. Still, Fitz couldn’t help the grins that passed over his face when he saw a new message from her. 

At one point they communicated for an entire afternoon solely in pictures and gifs, prompting Fitz to keep an eye out for amusing things he thought Jemma would enjoy. When he found one of a googly-eyed monkey hanging upside down with a wrench in hand, he couldn’t help the amused snort he let out, and immediately dropped the image into a message to her with the caption, “my future assistant! (or me on way too much coffee)”

Jemma cracked an eyelid and tilted her head toward her bedside table when she heard the chirp of her message alert, a small smile forming on her mouth. Ever since she and Fitz had made up, life seemed to be going more smoothly. There were still moments with William where she wondered what she was doing, but as of late everything seemed to be on a definite upswing. 

Tucking the sheet up around her nude form, Jemma leaned over to snatch up her mobile, her smile widening when she saw the message was from Fitz. The smile became a giggle when she saw the image he’d sent, and she was all set to tap out a quick response when she heard William behind her.

“What’s so funny?”

“Come and look,” she said, holding her hand out to him as he stood at the opposite edge of the bed, hair damp and towel wrapped around his waist. “Fitz sent me the funniest-”

“Bloody hell! Fitz? Again?!” 

William’s eyes flashed with anger and he turned away from her to dig into his overnight bag, presumably for boxers. Jemma sat up fully, leaning against the headboard and taking the sheet with her as she watched him. His muscles were tense and every line of him screamed frustration as he tugged on his clothing.

“It’s just a picture message, William. Nothing to become irate over.”

He sat at the foot of the bed with his back toward her as he tugged his socks on, and Jemma could just see the way the muscles twitched in his jaw as he gathered his words. Finished with his socks, he growled, “No, Jemma, it is something to become irate over. We’ve barely finished in bed, and when I come back from the shower I find you, still naked, giggling over something precious Fitz sent you. How is that supposed to make me feel?”

Jemma bit back some of her frustration, trying to see William’s perspective even though she found him to be utterly foolish in this regard. 

“We’ve talked about this before. Fitz and I aren’t like that. We’ll never be like that, and he certainly doesn’t want-”

“It’s not a matter of what he wants!” William stood and rounded on her, his words tinged with frustration as much as anger. “I’m your boyfriend, Jemma, not him. I should have your focus, not him. But even after fucking you can’t keep your attention off of him and on me.” He slipped into his winter coat and gathered his belongings. He paused in the open door and threw back one last barb. “When I first started seeing you, if I’d known I had to share you with another bloke, even a queer one, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

The door shut behind him with a definitive snap, leaving Jemma feeling more than a little hollow. 

~*~

Fitz went out of his way to get himself another invitation to that fancy club. As much as he hated to be so… Well, he didn’t want to call it sneaky, because it wasn’t, but it was a bit devious and underhanded. Fitz hated to be that way, but he had a feeling that really had been William he’d seen weeks before. And that he was continuing to cheat on Jemma under the guise of these ‘business meetings’. So with the invitation on hand, he waited until the next time Jemma complained about William’s late meetings and took himself off to the club to see if he spotted the other man again. 

Sure enough, well after midnight Fitz spotted William and the same knockout blonde out on the dance floor from his spot on a first floor balcony. A couple of snapshots on his phone later - and a failed attempt to get better ones from downstairs - and Fitz found he had no taste for staying at the club any longer, but he also didn’t especially want to go home. 

He spent most of the night out, eventually heading to the diner near Jemma’s work in the wee hours of the morning, debating what he should tell her and how. He couldn’t not say anything. Not now. 

Toward the end of her shift, he sent Jemma a text.

Jemma [06:39]: Up for coffee? I’ll meet you at the side entrance when you’re free.

Feet a bit achy and stomach rumbling with hunger, Jemma was beyond ready for her shift to end. It had been quiet, leaving her with few patients to check on and a mountain of paperwork to wrangle. Luckily, she’d managed to see her patients and worked the stack of files in her inbox back to a manageable size, but it had left her feeling a bit dazed. 

She still managed to grin though when she saw Fitz’ text. Coffee had slowly become their most common activity again, with her delaying her exit from the hospital by a few minutes to give Fitz time to meet her with a cup before she accompanied him to his lab and headed home for the day. She hadn’t been expecting him today, however, and felt her mood lift instantly.

Fitz [06:42]: Throw in a pastry of my choice and call it a date. 

He glanced at his phone and smiled. Jemma fussed at him about his diet, but she had a terrible sweet tooth. Still, Fitz wandered toward the case at the front of the diner to see what they had that morning beyond the usual cake and pie. 

Jemma [6:44]: I’m at the diner. Apple or cherry danish, plain or chocolate croissant, or a lemon bar?

Her reply, asking for a lemon bar, came in less than a minute. When Fitz mentioned in passing to the waitress that it was for Jemma, the slice the older woman had started to cut was suddenly considerably larger with a fond comment about Jemma looking too skinny lately. 

Despite his worry about how his conversation with her was going to go, Fitz was still happy that he’d get to see Jemma, and made his way through the chilly, dim streets over to London Bridge Hospital, juggling two cups of coffee and Jemma’s treat. 

“There’s my knight in shining armor!”

Jemma’s greeting, usually warm, was downright enthusiastic, bolstered by the promise of coffee and a lemon bar. She gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek before taking the offered coffee and brown paper bag. Her grin doubled in size after she took a peek and noticed the larger than usual portion. 

“You got Molly, didn’t you?” Jemma shook her head a bit as she folded over the edge of the bag and sipped her coffee. “She’s been after me about my eating for as long as I’ve known her. Where’d you want to go?”

Fitz hadn’t gotten that far, too caught up in figuring out how to break the news to her gently. He’d been up all night, he wasn’t at his best on no sleep, but he’d do his best because it was Jemma. Honestly, he wanted to hug her, but if he did that now she would know for certain that something was up. 

Scrambling for a reply, he finally turned toward the riverfront. “C’mon. We’ll walk along the Thameswalk for a bit. Is no’ too terribly windy this mornin’ - shouldna be a bad walk.” 

She nearly griped at him, invoking her sore feet and long shift, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to ruin the moment with needless complaining. Jemma paused to tuck her lemon bar into her bag, and turned back to Fitz with an eager grin. 

“All right, lead on.”

He wasn't thinking about her feet, but rather about where they'd have relative privacy. At this time of day only runners would be out on the Thameswalk, and they'd be focused on their workout, not on two people walking off to the side. 

Once they reached the river, Fitz stopped at the rail, staring out over the dark water. "I saw William a' the club las' nigh'. With someone else. I thought' I'd seen him before, bu' it was while we werena talkin' an’ I didna ge' a good look, I was so surprised." He blurted out the rest, just wanting to get it out fast. Fitz hated he was hurting her, but it was the only way he knew to handle the situation. 

"I didna ge' a close look this time either, an' the pictures are blurred, bu' I'm almost' positive it was him. I wouldna be tellin' y', otherwise. I'm so sorry, Jem." She was silent and still next to him, and Fitz reached for her hand.

As much as she knew that Fitz wouldn’t lie to her, not when it came to something as serious as this, Jemma didn’t want to believe it. William wasn’t perfect, not by far, but still… she had trouble reconciling the man who had surprised her with an impromptu trip to Paris for Valentine’s Day with the man Fitz was describing. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t stopped to eat; she felt like she was going to be sick. 

She finally managed to turn and meet Fitz’ gaze, unaware of how dull her own was, and tightened her fingers around his. “May I… May I see the photos? Please?” She was sure Fitz was right and they were blurred, but she needed to see them anyhow. 

Fitz hated the look on her face. It was too flat and carefully emotionless, especially compared to her usual rapidly shifting expressions. “Yeah. Yeah, o’ course. I dinna think y’ can tell, bu’...” He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, punching in his pin and navigating into the photo gallery. “Here.”

The fuzzy image had been distorted by the shifting lights of the dance floor, only showing a tall figure with wavy hair and the slinky blonde up against him. 

He was right. It was nearly impossible to definitively state that it was William in the picture, and with the image being from above, Jemma couldn’t even rely on height comparisons to see if it was him. But the way the hair fell over the man’s face was familiar to her; how often had she turned over in the night to see it swept across his brow in just that way? And she was nearly certain she recognized the jacket as the one from what he called his lucky suit, the one he wore when “closing.”

Closing, indeed, Jemma thought darkly, eyes skimming over the woman who was apparently grinding her arse into William’s crotch.

She’d only seen hair that blonde on one woman, the bubbly 19 year old who answered the phones at William’s office, but her face was directed away from the camera, making it impossible to say for sure. Swallowing thickly, Jemma handed the phone back to Fitz and gave a soft, shuddering sigh. She hated that she could feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes, but forced herself to meet the Scot’s concerned blue eyes. 

“I- I think I’d like to see for myself. I just need to know.” She gave a shrug and looked down, her hands tightening both around Fitz and her coffee cup, willing her eyes to dry before she looked back up at him. “Would you take me?”

Jemma’s attempt at stoicism might have worked if Fitz didn’t know her as well as he did. He could tell she was only holding it together by the skin of her teeth. Pulling his hand out of hers, Fitz wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead. His heart hurt for her, knowing Jemma had poured so much into this relationship only for William to cheat on her. 

“I understan’,” he murmured. Fitz would want to see for himself, too. 

Careful of her, Fitz hesitantly drew Jemma in close to his side, watching her worriedly. “We’ll go next time he claims he’s go’ a late meetin’, okay?” 

~*~

William didn’t make them wait long, calling Jemma the following Thursday to say he had to cancel their dinner plans yet again. She reacted the way she always had, disappointed and with a few biting remarks before hanging up. Only this time, instead of sulking, Jemma pushed off of her sofa to wandering into her closet. She walked along the garments, fingers skimming over different materials, only to find herself at a total loss.

She had no idea what to wear to something like this; her younger sister was the party child in their family, not Jemma. Frustrated, and her nerves beginning to churn in her gut, she found her mobile and shot off a quick message to Fitz.

Fitz [20:08]: What the hell do I even wear to a place like this?

Fitz was hoping having Jemma on his arm would make it easier to get into the club again, since he didn’t have the special invite this time. When he got Jemma’s text, he frowned, and instead of texting back, he tapped the command to call her instead, speaking as soon as he heard the call connect. “What d’ y’ wear to a place like wha’? You’re gonna have t’ give me a bi’ more context, lass.” 

“A club, Fitz! What do I even wear to a club?!” 

Jemma had gotten frantic, pawing through her clothing now, knocking a few hangers askew as she wedged her phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could speak to her disbelieving best friend. “I work nights. It’s not like I have much opportunity to go out.”

Her tone had taken on a whiny quality she typically hated, but she was too distressed at the moment to care.

“Chris’, lass, calm down. Is this because o’ William? Because y’ could have told me tha’ firs’, y’ know.” Fitz was home from the lab, and he hadn’t been planning on going out, but he’d promised her. He sighed and crawled off his couch to go toss a set of his good jeans and a shirt into a bag. “Look, go take a bath. Get yourself cleaned up, wash your hair an’ all tha’. I’ll be there shortly and we can figure ou’ wha’ y’ should wear, okay?” 

He tried to make it sound matter of fact, like they were just going to go out and have a good time, not that they were going to try and catch her boyfriend cheating on her. 

Jemma did as Fitz suggested, jumping into the shower and letting the scalding water do what it could to loosen the knotted muscles in her neck and shoulders. She felt silly, but she went about preparing as if she were going on a date with William, not trying to catch him screwing his secretary. She even took the time to use her body scrub, letting the tropical scent soothe her as she went.

By the time she had gotten out and dried off, Fitz still hadn’t arrived. Still unsure of what she should wear, Jemma put on her favorite bra and knicker set, hoping the black lace would boost her self-confidence if nothing else, and slid her dressing gown on over it, knotting the belt tightly at her waist. She decided that her hair was next, and by the time Fitz walked in, calling her name, she had gotten it dry and was working on setting a decent curl in it. 

Fitz had expected Jemma to be in a robe, but he’d figured on some fluffy soft thing, not the white silk she had on. He also absolutely - despite his recurring dreams that still left him entirely unsettled - wasn’t expecting to catch himself looking more than once when he realized he could see her lingerie through the robe. Jesus, Fitz, he scolded himself, what the hell are you doing? He could reason away that he’d never actually seen a woman mostly undressed before, but he felt like a perv. 

“Take your time, Jem. There’s no poin’ in showin’ up to a club before eleven. Midnigh’ is better. Both times I saw William were closer t’ one,” Fitz pointed out, seeing her working on her hair. His voice gentled as he stepped the rest of the way into the room, setting his bag on the couch before approaching her, carefully keeping his eyes in proper places. “Y’ gonna be okay tonigh’?” 

The easy way Fitz said his name, stating that he’d seen William and not just another man who looked like him, stung more than she expected. She’d been able to cling a bit to the hope that her friend was wrong and it was just some other well-dressed handsome man dancing in a club, but his certain tone put an end to that fantasy. If Fitz were right (and there were very few instances when he was wrong), tonight would not end pleasantly. 

Jemma kept her eyes focused on the task at hand, taking care to not burn herself as she made careful ringlets that she could later pin up, steadfastly avoiding Fitz’ gaze. She could hear the pity and concern in his last question, and she knew that if they made eye contact she’d start to cry. Still, when he stepped up behind her, putting his reflection in the mirror just over her left shoulder, she had to give in. Jemma took a moment to scan his face, and forced out a sigh before answering. 

“Honestly? Probably not. But something’s been wrong for a while and I’d rather catch him at this and end it than wonder, even if I’m going to be miserable.” She released the lock she’d been working on, the soft curl bobbing gently, and gathered another small bit of her caramel hair and fed it into the iron, shrugging delicately before dropping Fitz’ solemn look. “However, just because I’ll feel miserable doesn’t mean I should look it. If I’m walking away from him tonight, I want to give him something to miss, as foolish as that may be.”

Fitz flinched at her tone, feeling like an asshole. He was trying to be supportive, but maybe he was being too cavalier about it. “No, I get i’. An’ I dinna think tha’s foolish. He’s the one who’s a fool - for no’ appreciatin’ you.” 

Feeling his cheeks heat, Fitz moved away. This was actually the first time he’d been in her flat in some time, and the first time he’d seen the bookshelves he built her since Jemma had brought things out of storage to fill them. Loaded with a variety of books and decorative items, the ceiling height units anchored the room just the way Fitz had hoped. 

He glanced back at her and saw an expectant expression and Fitz cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Sorry, lass. I was woolgatherin’. Wha’ did y’ say?” 

The sight of Fitz, expression wistful as his eyes roamed over his handiwork, warmed Jemma’s heart. It was as plain as the nose on her face how much he loved that design, and she was incredibly pleased that he had decided to share it with her.

“All I asked is if you wanted to look through my clothes.” Her affectionate smile slid into a frustrated scowl as she glared at the opening of her walk-in. “Lord knows if I make another attempt, you very well may have to coach me through a bit of a break down.”

“Yeah, le’s no’ do tha’,” Fitz agreed. He wasn’t into fashion by any means, but he went out often enough that he had a better idea of what was passable club attire for a woman than Jemma did. With her schedule, she barely had time to read anything that wasn’t a case file, much less a fashion magazine. 

Her closet was neatly organized by season and color, but Fitz quickly discovered that while Jemma had dresses and feminine clothes, they were all meant for the sort of events her family would attend. Or the ones that she’d gone to with William. He was fairly stumped until he spotted a shoebox on a shelf - a wide one that clearly didn’t have a typical pair of shoes in it - and found a pair of skinny-heeled knee high boots. 

Fitz whistled softly and poked his head out of the closet. “Hey, Jem? Can y’ even walk in these things?” He asked, motioning toward the boot dangling from his hand. 

Jemma took a step back from the mirror and glanced toward Fitz, her typically wide, toothy grin breaking across her face. He’d found the boots Addy had dared her to buy ages ago, not expecting her staid older sister to cave. Not only had she caved, but she’d worn them out that night, and had looked damn good doing it. That had been before her residency, however, and she hadn’t had a chance to wear them since.

“Yes, I can,” she answered, turning back to the mirror and checking the last of her curls before digging out her bobby pins. “Why do you ask?”

Fitz eyed the grin on Jemma’s face for a moment, considering, before his own grin made an appearance. “I’ve an idea. Give me a minute.” Jemma would never be able to pull off the vampy sort of sexy a lot of women went for, but Fitz was thinking about one of the women who came to the gay clubs now and then who showed off her legs and virtually nothing else and managed to look amazing doing it. 

He’d seen a black sweater dress with an interesting neckline earlier and grabbed that, along with a wide belt, setting them aside and stepping out of the closet. “There’s an outfit set aside for y’ t’ try. With those boots,” he said, motioning her over. “I think it’ll work, without resortin’ t’ showin’ too much skin. Is only April anyway - you’ll freeze, otherwise.” 

Jemma stopped what she’d been doing and stepped into her closet, reaching up to pull the tug chain on the single bare light bulb as she gently shut the door behind her. Allowing her robe to drop to the floor for the time being, she took a look at what Fitz had picked for her. She had no idea if it would be club appropriate, but she trust him to not steer her in the wrong direction. The only problem she could see was that her bra strap would show with that neckline, and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached behind her and undid the clasp and tossed the scrap of black lace on top of her robe before tugging the dress on, taking her time so she wouldn’t ruin her curls. 

Once she had straightened the dress on her frame, Jemma leaned against the wall so she could tug on the boots. Fitz had been right; the outfit showed relatively little skin, leaving only her shoulders and a few inches between the hem of the dress and the top of the boots exposed. Still, she was nervous when she opened the door and stepped out, wondering not only if Fitz would approve of the look, but also how she looked in it. Part of her feared she’d look absolutely ridiculous, despite his best efforts.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Jemma asked, “Well? What do you think?”

Fitz was peeking out the window when she came out and turned at her query, only to freeze, staring. “Chris’. Who are you an’ wha’ have y’ done with my Jemma?” he blurted out, but he was half-laughing in shock and disbelief and amusement at imagining William’s face when he saw her in it. “If y’ wanted t’ make tha’ arse see wha’ he’s givin’ up, tha’ will do i’.” 

He was also trying to hide his own reaction to her in that outfit - complete and utter awe. Fitz had thought she was pretty when he met her, and eventually to beautiful once he got to know her, but he wasn’t used to thinking of Jemma as being sexy. Maybe it was the way she had to walk in those boots, so different from her usual purposeful pacing, but damn. Fitz might be gay - or whatever he was these days - but he wasn’t blind. 

“Go look a’ yourself in th’ mirror, lass. I think you’ve go’ a surprise comin’.” He didn’t think Jemma saw herself as particularly sexy

Fitz’s voice had taken on an odd quality, causing Jemma’s brows to knit together in curiosity as she stepped in front of her full length mirror. 

It sounded trite, but Jemma didn’t recognize the woman in front of her, the one with the wide eyes, tousled hair and seemingly more confident walk. She turned, first to the left and then to the right to take in her profile. Fitz had done well with what she’d given him to work with; she certainly couldn’t have hoped to do better. 

She tossed him a look over her shoulder and arched a brow. “Your Jemma, hmm? You did well, Fitz, and yes, I appreciate it but it’s still just me.” She brushed a hand down her front and fidgeted a bit with the placement of the dress, silently debating how dark she wanted to make her makeup, and whether she should leave her hair down or pin it up.

Fitz nearly asked what she was talking about before he realized what he’d said to her before and blushed a deep pink. She was his Jemma, in a way, but he didn’t often spout off about that. Much less to her. He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “Even if y’ had more of wha’ people usually think of as club clothes, y’ would never be comfortable in them. I canna speak for those boots,” he said, shaking his head, “Because I’ve no idea how you’re walkin’ in them, bu’... I think this is a good compromise.” 

He bit his lip, one hand propped up on his hip, still a bit in shock at Jemma’s appearance. If she put on a bit more makeup and left her hair down, it’d be perfect. How William would ever pick that blonde - pinup curves or not - over Jemma was lost on him.


	14. Chapter 14

A relatively short while later, her hair left loose and her makeup in the neighborhood of what Fitz had deemed appropriate, Jemma was doing her best to navigate the club as if she knew what she was doing. He hadn’t exaggerated when he’d told her what an architectural marvel the place was, and she found herself looking up nearly as often as she scanned the crowd, looking for William’s familiar shoulders. 

Jemma was tense, bracing herself to see William at any moment, and her nerves were showing. Her knuckles were practically white where she gripped her glass, and she’d essentially nibbled the small straw to pieces. 

Fitz was worried about her. Jemma didn’t usually seem fragile. He could only remember one time he’d ever seen her quite this out of sorts and that had been that first morning she’d run to him after a bad shift. Not that he blamed her, knowing what she was expecting from tonight. 

He glanced over, catching that she’d drained her drink and was only fidgeting with the remnants. Fitz reached over and snagged it away from her, sliding the stemware onto the bar and catching her hand. “C’mon,” he said, leaning in close to her ear to be heard. “I know we’re no’ really here for this, bu’ y’ need t’ stop thinkin’ abou’ him until he actually shows up. If he shows, an’ if is really him.” 

And so, he led Jemma through the crowded space and onto the dance floor. As soon as they passed into the circle of columns, the acoustics Fitz had noticed before kicked in again, making the thump of music nearly irresistible. 

Jemma followed Fitz easily, trusting in the warmth radiating from his palm and the steady press of his fingers against hers, weaving fluidly through the crowd behind him. She wasn’t quite sure where, exactly, she thought he was taking her, but she felt her heart skip a bit in panic when she realized it was the dance floor.

She had taken dance lessons as a child, the typical ballet (with which she’d quickly grown bored and dropped) and her mother had insisted that she take at least a year’s worth of ballroom classes, but neither of those prepared her for this. For the bass-heavy, rub-up-against-someone dancing she saw going on around her. 

Using his grip on her hand against him, Jemma tugged Fitz back a step so she could hiss in his ear, “Fitz! I don’t know how to dance.” She did her best not to actually panic, but couldn’t help the way her hazel eyes went wide with her burst of nerves. The only real benefit was that she was no longer thinking solely of William. Now, she was worried about William, and making an utter arse of herself. 

Fitz was nowhere near bold enough to grind up on Jemma that way, but he smirked at her a little when she insisted she didn’t know how to dance. “Is no’ hard, lass. If y’ canna feel a beat in this place, there’s somethin’ wrong,” he chuckled. 

He wasn’t a great dancer and never would be, but Fitz had learned the trick of closing his eyes and going along with the beat well enough. That was about all that was really needed to be a decent dancer - to relax and go with it. Jemma, however, wasn’t relaxing. Fitz pressed a hand over her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup, “Keep those closed. No one’s payin’ a bit of attention excep’ me. Forge’ abou’ William for a few minutes an’ move.” 

Jemma did as Fitz bid, closing her eyes and letting her body just move along with the beat. She had no idea if she looked like an utter loon or not, but soon found she didn’t really care. The two drinks she’d had were beginning to make her feel loose, and slowly but surely, she forgot to worry about William and whether or not he would be there. The scant rhythm she’d managed to develop as a little girl came back to her, and she was eventually able to open her eyes to look at Fitz.

It seemed that he had been watching her, if the affectionate upward quirk of his lips was any indication, and Jemma couldn’t help but let out a peal of laughter that was quickly lost in the din of the club. This felt good, just being out with Fitz, dancing and letting go of everything that had happened so far that week. Her sister had been right, Jemma realized, and she should have done this sooner. Before, she’d always refused, saying she didn’t have anybody to go with but now…

Leaning forward far enough so she could speak directly in his ear, Jemma curled her fingers around Fitz’ shoulder and asked, “Why don’t we do this more often?”

She didn’t look stupid at all, especially once she relaxed into it and stopped being so self-conscious. The smile she gave him and the laughter - even though he could barely hear it - let him relax too, not so worried about what was going to happen later on. There was still the chance that it hadn’t been William, although Fitz was fairly convinced it was. 

For once he didn’t even blink at Jemma’s touch, only tipping his head in to listen. Fitz had long since gotten in the habit of expecting to be touched all the time at the club, so it didn’t bother him anymore. When he understood what Jemma had asked he shrugged and shook his head, curling his arm around her waist to speak back into her ear. “I didna think y’ were interested. You’re on your feet all the time a’ work an’ busy. Figured y’ would rather have quiet time when y’ werena a’ the hospital.” 

He tipped his head, considering, glancing around the crowd around them. “Bu’ y’ should come with me t’ some of my favorites before y’ really decide tha’. This place is… a bi’ much. An’ is expensive.” He’d switched to drinking rum when he was here because the scotch and tequila were both astronomically priced per shot. “I like my usual clubs better. Differen’ clientele, too.” He didn’t just mean the straight versus gay club atmosphere, but the attitude as well. This was a high-end place and the snotty personalities reflected it. 

Jemma teetered a bit on her heels as Fitz pulled her in close. She remembered him saying he was more used to being touched in situations like this, but still hadn’t expected him to wrap an arm about her waist, or the way it would make her heart turn over in her chest. She noticed that she could now look him directly in the eye as well, and allowed herself to become distracted by the way the lights played across his irises.

It was one of those odd moments Jemma had been having lately where she realized just how attractive Fitz was. She felt the small pang of regret as she thought, Not for you, Jemma, and shook it off as quickly as it came. Thinking that way wouldn’t do her any good.

“I wouldn’t mind doing this every once in a while, when I need a change of pace,” Jemma admitted, a thoughtful expression coming over her face. “I think I’ll need to go shopping, though, if we keep going out.” It wasn’t as if that would be a problem. Jemma wasn’t an extravagant spender by any means; she could afford to use a bit of her money on new clothing. 

“Alrigh’,” he agreed easily. The only thing that would really change for him was that he wouldn’t be able to pick someone up - or let himself be picked up - if Jemma was with him. Fitz’ protectiveness of her wouldn’t let him just put her in a cab and trust that she made it home alright while he went off gallivanting. “Jus’ le’ me know when you’re off on a Friday or Saturday nigh’ and want t’ go.” 

Fitz kept her close while they danced. Not up against each other, but close enough that he could keep her from getting bumped too much. He wasn’t entirely confident in her ability to stay upright on those heels if someone caught her unexpectedly while she was swaying about. It also made it much easier to watch Jemma and not her body in that dress and those boots. 

It was some time later - several songs, at least - when Fitz sucked in a breath, his shoulders going tense. He’d spotted the blonde first, dressed in scarlet this time, before spying William a few feet behind her. 

Jemma had been facing Fitz, watching him and the club goers around him in equal turn as she lost herself in the music. She had started to think that nothing would happen, that she had just been silly and paranoid when it came to William, when she noticed Fitz’ suddenly tense posture. 

Concerned, she turned, following his gaze, and realized why he’d gone stiff. That certainly was Serena, the receptionist from William’s office. Jemma would have recognized the woman’s bright blonde hair anywhere, although the vivid red dress was new. She even could have admitted that it was rather fetching on the younger woman, if it hadn’t been for the possessive hold William had on her hips.

There was no denying it now. Even in the ever-shifting multicolored lights, there was Jemma’s boyfriend, hands on another woman as they writhed against each other. She had stopped dancing entirely, going numb as she watched them from across the dance floor. She’d known something was wrong, and she’d had Fitz’ warning, but Jemma hadn’t been expecting the emotional sucker punch that came with seeing it happen before her. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, the length of a song maybe, before she saw William turn Serena around and kiss her, bold as anything on the dance floor, surrounded by people. 

That did it. Jemma strode forward, vaguely aware of Fitz calling after her, but didn’t stop until she was right next to William. The arse didn’t even notice she was there, and Jemma gave him a good shove, breaking the kiss. 

“You arsehole! You absolute berk!”

“What the hell?!” William’s expression went from angry to shocked to resigned in the space of an instant as he glanced over Jemma, eyes flickering to Fitz before coming back to her. “Why am I not surprised that you’re here with him?” His tone was bored even as he let his eyes linger on her curves, making Jemma’s skin crawl. She couldn’t believe she’d let William touch her in the first place. “You do realize you should have dressed like this for me, not him, right? That you’re chasing someone who’ll never want you? Not to mention, Fitzy here wouldn’t know what to do with you even if he bothered to try.”

She knew, logically, that his words meant nothing, but they still struck her dumb, leaving her capable of doing no more than shake in anger. 

Fitz trailed along after Jemma, knowing she needed to handle this, but wanting to be there to back her up if William decided to be too big of an arsehole. After all, the man had just been caught quite literally red-handed with his hands and mouth on that other woman. He wasn’t fast enough to catch her before she shoved William, and the other man’s insinuating words made Fitz’ blood boil. 

How dare William try to use their friendship against Jemma? Fitz abruptly wondered if this had been going on the entire time and Jemma hadn’t told him. 

Either way, Fitz caught Jemma against him, pulling her back against his chest to keep her from lunging forward again. His chin landed on her shoulder and Fitz turned his face into her hair, knowing it looked intimate to William, the blonde, and the other people who’d stopped to watch the drama unfold. “Shh, lass,” Fitz said into her ear. “Dinna hit him. He’s a solicitor. Y’ dinna need tha’ trouble.” 

To William, he quirked a dismissive eyebrow, picking his words to be carefully honest and yet pointedly insinuating. “I wouldna be so cocky, Woodward. I figured ou’ how t’ keep her happier than y’ ever did. An’ now tha’ she knows how big an arsehole y’ really are, I still win. Have fun with your slag, will y’?” He tipped his head toward the scowling, silent blonde at William’s side and drawing Jemma away. 

One glance at Jemma’s face told him she was in no condition to make any decisions just then, so Fitz guided her through the crowd and out toward the exit, with a brief pause at the coat check. He slid his hand back into hers hurried Jemma outside, getting her well away from the queue of people still waiting to get in before he slowed to look over at her again. 

“Mine or yours? ‘M no’ leavin’ y’ alone righ’ now, either way.” 

She’d moved on autopilot after Fitz had stepped in behind her, only registering half of what he had said to William. She had been too focused on watching Serena, wondering if she had had curves like that or those perfectly pouty lips, would William have stayed faithful? That was where her mind was, wondering what she could have done differently, when Fitz’s question broke through. 

“Yours, please,” she gasped out, tears starting to slip down her cheeks. “I just… I can’t…” Jemma struggled with her words, unable to bring herself to vocalize that she couldn’t go to her flat, not now, not with a million little reminders of him all over the place. “Anywhere but mine, really.”

“Okay, okay. Mine i’ is.” He diverted them toward the Underground rather than the bus line that was the most direct route to her flat. 

Jemma huddled in against his shoulder as soon as they got on the Northern line train, and Fitz didn’t push. She was inherently private, and he would hate crying in front of strangers on a train, too. Thankfully the twenty minute ride passed quickly and he was able to hurry her out of the Highgate station toward his flat. Well, as much hurrying as could happen when she was tottering on those spike heels over uneven ground. 

Fitz let her go in ahead of him, flipping the overhead foyer light on but not bothering with any of the others. They both knew his flat well enough to navigate in the dimness. 

Finally feeling safe, Jemma gave herself permission to finish breaking down, her tears coming hot and fast now as the sobs broke in her throat. She turned and blindly reached for Fitz, finding him and clutching him close in the dark entryway without bothering to let either of them out of their jackets. She was only functioning at the most primitive level, seeking safety above all else. So, she clung to the safest thing in sight and began the process of crying herself out.

“I- I, God, I don’t even know what I did wrong, Fitz. If he were bored, or wanted something different, why not just say it? Or ask? I would have been willing to try…” 

Fitz caught her against him, holding Jemma close. “I dinna know, Jem. Sometimes, there’s no good answer. Seems like William migh’ have been selfish enough t’ want more than any one person could have given him.” He tilted his weight to lean against the wall and let her lean on him in turn while he stroked a hand over her loose curls. “There’s no’ a damn thing wrong with y’. He’s the one who made the choice t’ cheat.” 

A million questions floated across her mind, ones like If there’s nothing wrong with me, why did he do this? and What could I have done differently?, but they came on too quickly for Jemma to keep ahead of them. Instead of even bothering to try, she buried her face in Fitz’ shoulder, hoping to muffle the sound of her tears. When she began to come around, slowly recognizing the pinch in her toes and the uncomfortable feeling of tears drying on her face.

She pulled away and noticed the mess she’d made of his jacket, a stab of guilt cutting through her sorrow. “Fitz, your jacket, I… shite. I’m sorry.” Given the sheer amount of mascara that seemed to have found its way onto his shoulder, she knew she was a mess, and Jemma took one shaky step back, nibbling her lower lip as she tried to piece together in her currently scattered mind what she needed to do next.

“I think I need to clean up,” she whispered, voice raw from her earlier tears. “Do you have something I could change into?”

“Dinna worry abou’ th’ jacket. It’ll wash ou’.” He reached forward and tugged at the collar of Jemma’s own coat. “Take tha’ off - an’ those boots an’ go ge’ cleaned up. I’ll bring y’ somethin’ t’ change into,” Fitz suggested gently. He could see all too clearly that she was brittle and close to breaking down again. He couldn’t blame really blame her, given William’s poor behavior. “I’m sorry for grabbin’ y’ like tha’ earlier, too,” he added. 

Fitz wasn’t entirely sure Jemma had even realized what he’d done, firing back at William like that, but it had been an instinctive reaction, wanting Jemma out of the middle of the situation. If William had risen to the bait, Fitz would have handled it, one way or another. Still, he’d inserted himself into the situation when she hadn’t asked - and put hands on her. He felt that deserved an apology. 

Jemma was quiet again while she dealt with her coat, so Fitz went off to get her a t-shirt and a pair of his shorts to change into. By the time he dug them out of his basket of clean clothes, she was in the loo, and he tapped on the door to get her attention. 

Her quickly draining anger left Jemma feeling more than a bit hollow, rendering her incapable of responding beyond shaking her head, and she quietly did as Fitz had suggested. Once he disappeared into his bedroom, she slipped across the hall, into the bathroom, and stripped out of her dress immediately. It was a shame; despite how beautiful she had felt earlier, she couldn’t stand to have the thing on her any longer, and it was a relief to watch it crumple onto the tile floor. 

Jemma was fiddling with the taps, trying to find the right temperature at which to wash her face when she heard Fitz’ soft knock. Cognizant of her state of undress, she only opened the door enough to peek at him and slip her hand through to take the soft cotton garments, and kept her gaze averted. She couldn’t handle looking Fitz in the eye at the moment, knowing the pity she’d see there would only cause her to break down again. Some help that would be, breaking down on the floor of his loo, so Jemma merely muttered a soft thank you before shutting the door again with a soft snap.

After tugging on the dark t-shirt and what she supposed were a pair of his boxers, she scrubbed her face as best she could, taking her time to make sure the heavy eye makeup was truly gone. When she looked in the mirror once more, Jemma still didn’t recognize herself, no more than she had earlier in the night when she’d been getting ready. It was still her face, her features, but they looked almost gaunt in the pale yellow light, and she had to look away quickly. She just couldn’t face it, not even herself.

Exiting the small room, Jemma padded quietly into his hallway. The flat was still dark, leaving her with no clue as to where Fitz might be. “Fitz?” she called softly. “Where’d you go?”

Fitz had to resist hovering in the short hallway and trying to get her to talk. The silence from the bath was ominous, and he found the worry that had faded while she'd been in his arms returning. Biting at his lip and releasing it slowly, Fitz disappeared back into his bedroom, stripping out of his own clothes and into pajama pants and a t-shirt of his own before straightening things in his room. 

She was upset and had an awful night. The least he could do was give her the more comfortable place to sleep for the night. 

Hearing the door squeak open - he needed to oil that - Fitz called out at her soft question. "In here, lass. Y' can come in." She had only been in his room a couple of times before and it felt right to make it clear she was welcome. Honestly, Fitz would say yes to almost anything right now, if she asked it of him. He felt guilty in a way, for being the one to break Jemma's illusions about her boyfriend. For not being there more because he was too busy sulking and then being a jackass. 

He knew William's behavior wasn't his fault, but he wanted to apologize for it anyway. Jemma hadn't deserved any of the trouble she'd gone through the past few months. And if William had been after her about him the whole time as he now suspected ... Fitz felt a warm surge of affection for her. She had stuck by him the whole damn time, even when he hadn't known it. 

He couldn't see Jemma's face in the darkness, but he could see her outline, backlit in the faint light from the other room. "Y' know you're amazin', right?" He offered it quietly, in lieu of asking something stupid - like if she was alright - when he already knew the answer. 

Jemma stepped forward to hover just inside the door of his room, uncertainty suddenly her default mode. It wasn’t as if she’d never been in Fitz’ room before, or that it was odd to be alone with him even after William’s cruel accusations, but she just didn’t feel like herself. Nothing felt normal, and she certainly didn’t feel amazing, so she automatically scoffed when Fitz called her as much. 

“Amazing at what exactly, Fitz? Burying my head in the sand?” 

That was exactly what she had done, denying the obvious signs of William’s growing lack of interest and blaming it on either them being busy or tired or just slipping out of the honeymoon stage of the relationship. She took a small step toward Fitz, then another and another, until she was standing next to him. Moving slowly in the dark, not wanting to trigger him when she couldn’t be sure he saw her coming, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself there, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. She was still clinging, without a doubt, but she at least felt more controlled this time.

“It’s not even like I loved him,” she whispered into Fitz’ neck. “I don’t understand why it hurts so badly if I didn’t even love him.” 

"Y' trusted him. Sometimes tha's worse," Fitz offered quietly. He shuffled backwards a step or two, drawing Jemma along with him, until he could slide down and sit on the edge of his bed. "C'mere, lass," he said, urging her down. "Ge' off your feet an' try t' relax. Is been a hell of a nigh', yeah? Was fun before he showed up, a' leas'."

He debated teasing, unsure, but eventually tried it, careful to keep his voice low. Fitz was hoping for at least a little laugh from her. Some sign that she wasn't totally lost in her sadness. "I feel bad enough tha' I could possibly be convinced t' give y' a footrub, since I told y' t' wear those sexy boots an' then made y' dance in them for more than an hour." Plus walking to the tube station and to his flat. 

Jemma wasn’t sure how, but she managed to at least grin for him, both at the memory of the fun they had dancing and his joke about rubbing her feet. It wasn’t her feet that were sore, and try as he might, Fitz couldn’t fix what was bothering her, not unless he was hiding a gallon of chocolate ice cream and a stack of twee romantic comedies somewhere in his room. Since that was highly unlikely, she settled for pressing closer to his side and resting her head against his shoulder.

“Dancing was fun,” she conceded, just a hint of her smile showing through, “even in the ‘sexy’ boots. And I’ll take you up on the footrub, but in the morning, I think. I’m just so tired right now. All I want is to sleep for a good, long while.”

Fitz stilled, surprised at her words. He knew Jemma wasn’t okay. Leaving her right now didn’t feel right, but at the same time, he didn’t want to push her. If Jemma wanted to sleep, he’d accept that and give her space. “Alrigh’ lass,” Fitz agreed, “I’ll le’ y’ get some rest.” He gave her a little one-armed hug and stood, heading for the living room. 

He got himself settled on the couch, curling up in the corner and pulling the blanket down around himself. There was no chance of him going to sleep anytime soon, but at the same time Fitz didn’t want to be up and moving around and disturbing Jemma. Instead he reached out and grabbed his laptop from the table, quietly logging in and clicking into one of his research journals to skim headlines. 

Jemma’s eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light of the room, so she could see the disbelieving look on Fitz’ face when she said she just wanted to sleep, but thankfully he bit his tongue and stood to go. She missed his warmth as soon as he stepped away, and she wanted nothing more than to beg him to stay with her, at least until she fell asleep, but she had already pushed the limits on their friendship enough for one night. She settled for giving him a weak grin instead, and watched him go, leaving the door slightly ajar as he went. 

Peeling back the covers, Jemma crawled into Fitz’ bed and planted her head on a pillow, expecting to drift off immediately. Only she didn’t. Or rather, couldn’t. She just kept seeing William: their first date at the gallery… curled up together on his sofa... kissing her at the top of the Eiffel Tower... curled around her in bed... wrapped around Serena at the Club…

Jemma tugged down one of Fitz’ pillows, clutching it to her chest as she began to cry. They were soft little sobs at first, but as she kept going over the details of their relationship, they grew stronger, until her entire body began to shake with the force of her weeping. Aware that Fitz was trying to sleep, she pulled the covers over her head and lowered her face into the pillow in a weak attempt to muffle the noise. 

The flat was silent around him, but it still took Fitz a little bit to notice the faint sounds coming from his bedroom. Uncertain, he stopped reading and sat up, listening carefully. It took a few minutes for Fitz to be sure she was crying, and another after that before he got off the couch to pad toward his bedroom. He only hesitated because Jemma had clearly wanted some time alone and he didn’t want to disturb her. 

Fitz paused at the end of the hall, listening again, and at the sound of another soft sob, he slipped back into his room. “Jem?” he called quietly. “Y’ okay, lass?” Even knowing it was a stupid question, Fitz asked, just to say something and let her know he was there. He crawled up over the foot of the bed and into the empty stretch of mattress between her and the wall before tugging at the edge of the blanket. “Hey. Shhhh,” he soothed. “He’s no’ worth all this, lass.” 

Her grip on the blanket at been loose, allowing Fitz to pull it from her easily, and Jemma craned her neck into the pillow in an attempt to hide her face from him. She hated that she had woken him with her crying. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she mumbled into the down beneath her, blinking so she could clear her tears and at least attempt to look at him.

Sucking in a deep, raspy breath as she tried to force her lungs to function normally once more, she managed to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and nearly impossible to read in this light. “He might not be worth it, but still… what does that say for everything we did together? Everything I put in to it? How could I be so stupid, Fitz, to not realize sooner? Or rather, to not force myself to accept what he was doing sooner?”

Jemma dropped her gaze to the blanket that lay bunched between them, and allowed her fingers to draw random patterns in it as she finally gave voice to one thought that had been nagging her since they left the club. “Maybe… maybe I’ve been wrong this entire time,” she whispered as the tear tracks dried on her face. “I’m starting to think you’ve got the right idea. What’s the point of dating? It only leads to hurt. Might as well go out and shag and not bother with the rest… after all, it’s only a biological need, right?”

“I wasna sleepin’,” Fitz corrected her. “I’ve been up on my laptop, readin’.” Touching Jemma seemed to get easier, the more he did it, so he only hesitated briefly before reaching out to swipe gentle fingers against Jemma’s cheek. He was quiet while he brushed at her tears before his eyes met hers. “Y’ didna know he was this big of an arse before, Jem. If y’ had, y’ never would have dated him. An’ now y’ do… he’s no’ worth all this. Y’ were always too good for him, Jemma.” 

He flinched at Jemma’s final comment. His trips to the club might have been started as a challenge from his therapist, but Fitz had reinvented himself over months to be able to survive there with his anxiety over being gay and his issues with touch and personal space. And his habit of bringing men home or kipping at theirs was only because Fitz didn’t attach any emotional significance to it. Like Jemma had just said. 

But Fitz could be a cold bastard when he wanted to be - only Jemma’s influence had let him be as open and soft as he was with her when it was just them. And he’d never actually had any sort of relationship with anyone he’d had sex with beyond attraction and maybe a bit of mutual respect. Jemma couldn’t live that way. It would eat at something inside her, break the sweetness and care and empathy that had drawn him in all those months ago. 

His fingers stilled where they rested against her cheek, his expression shuttering as Fitz bit at his lip again. “Y’ mean wha’ I’ve been doin’ all these months? I really dinna recommend tha’, lass. Especially no’ for y’.” 

She huffed out a harsh breath, Fitz’ implication that she, for whatever reason, should be exempt from his kind of lifestyle chafing at her. It was the kind of thing Jemma would expect to hear from men like her father, or William, that women should more harshly curb their sexual urges, not from Fitz. Even though part of her recognized that he was right, that she wouldn’t thrive in his particular lifestyle, she was irritated at being told as much.

“Why the bloody hell not, Fitz?” Jemma asked, her tone far softer than her words might have suggested. “It’s not like I have time for dating, and when I tried to make time, look how that turned out. 

He could tell he’d upset her immediately and pulled his hand away from her cheek, only to put it back when he heard Jemma’s tone. The last thing Fitz wanted was to add to Jemma’s upset by saying the wrong thing, but he had to try. “Because for one, as y’ so often remin’ me, is no’ always safe. Two, you’re no’ the type t’ be able t’ have sex with no strings attached,” Fitz pointed out, his voice just as quiet, even though his words were slightly chiding. 

His next words were a whisper though, almost shame-faced, as he pointed out the most important point. “An’ three… is no’ like i’ would stop y’ from bein’ lonely. A’ leas’... i’ hasna worked tha’ way for me,” Fitz admitted. He’d never found anything to fill that particular gaping hole in his life until Jemma, which was why he’d floundered so badly when she’d virtually abandoned him for William. He didn’t want to think about having any more competition for her attention, not for a long while. And especially not random men. 

Jemma leaned into his gentle touch, savoring the feeling of being close to someone who cared for her as much as Fitz did, even if he’d never say it aloud. It took the sting from his words, knowing that they were being said out of tender concern and not some irrational double standard. 

But more than anything else, what caught Jemma’s attention was the sad undercurrent to his last reason. It stirred something in Jemma, memories of what seemed a lifetime ago before she’d met Fitz. She had had colleagues and patients and neighbors that she greeted, but no true friends. Her parents called to check on her and her sisters call when they needed help getting out of trouble or dealing with their other family members, but aside from that, she’d had no real close human interaction. 

She certainly hadn’t had a friend who would guide her through something like this, without hesitation, the way Fitz had. 

“Fitz?” Jemma’s voice cracked a bit on his name, and she brought her hand up to cover his as she turned her head to place a kiss on his palm. “I was lonely, before I met you.” Inching closer, Jemma snuggled up against Fitz and pressed another kiss to his cheek before finishing her thought. “I’m glad we met.” 

Fitz stilled when she cuddled up against him, her head on his chest. This had already felt intimate, laying with her on his bed but now it was even more so. Still, Jemma needed him right now and he would do his best to be what she needed. Instead of drawing back, he carefully stretched his arm out over her and hugged her close with his nose buried in her hair. “Me too, lass,” Fitz murmured, “Me too.”


	15. Chapter 15

It took Jemma a few weeks to get over William and what he had done, longer than she’d have liked to have spent on the man, but not longer than she’d expected if she were being truthful. Having Fitz around again certainly helped. They resumed their usual schedule of breakfast and coffee after her shifts, but this time also added in more frequent takeaway-and-a-movie evenings and time spent wandering city museums. There were a few shopping trips in which dresses were added to her wardrobe that Fitz deemed club appropriate, and Jemma even managed to convince him to attend one of her mother’s functions; a peek at the menu, the promise of an open bar, and her solemn oath to have them out in no more than two hours were all it took to convince him, albeit with plenty of grumbling. 

The only major shift in their friendship was the cuddling and more frequent sleepovers. It seemed that no matter what they did, they always wound up curled around each other at the end of the outing, huddled on either of their sofas beneath a blanket. Usually there was a movie or TV show involved, but sometimes it was just quiet conversation. It was nice, and Jemma soon found that Fitz was the quickest remedy for her bruised and battered heart. 

After William, she seemed quieter, more introspective. Less inclined to bickering with him over silly things. Fitz had taken to not nailing down plans with her beyond a time to meet, and suggesting activities based on her mood. Lately, that often meant seeing she was tired or needing quiet and scrapping ideas for going out almost immediately. Not that he begrudged her that. The museums and such would still be there on other days. 

She did surprise him, buying proper club attire although she had yet to use any of it. Really, Jemma's insistence on attending her mother's dinner was the only truly irritating thing, but given what had happened the last time Jemma found someone else to escort her, he wasn't going to take that chance. So he suffered through that night for Jemma's sake, pleased when she stuck by her promise of two hours and gone.

The more time he spent with her though, the more confused he got. Fitz had never been attracted to a woman in his life, but more and more often he found himself watching her or noticing things he probably shouldn't. Like the way her hair smelled, or how soft her skin was. The way she gravitated to his side and made herself comfortable there as soon as he acknowledged her, careful not to startle him. How much he liked having her there. Almost like it was where she was supposed to be. 

It got to the point that Fitz scheduled an extra appointment with Dr. Thornton, trying to figure himself out. 

~*~

It was far too early on a Wednesday morning when Jemma’s mobile rang, causing her to practically levitate from her bed. She groaned when she managed to snatch up the device and saw the time, as well as who was calling. She’d only been home for two hours, and asleep for one; she wasn’t in the mood to deal with her mother, but also knew that ignoring her calls would lead to a visit. Resigned, Jemma jabbed at the screen and held the phone to her ear.

“Yes, Mum?”

“Is that any way to greet your mother?” The voice was chiding while remaining overly bright, setting Jemma’s nerves on edge. The woman wanted something. Remembering the last time she’d heard that tone, and how it had ultimately ended with her causing a scene in a nightclub, she put her guard up. 

“It is when she calls me right after shift and I’m trying to sleep.” Jemma waited a beat to see if her mother would acknowledge the fact that she’d woken her. The older woman either was truly oblivious or steadfastly ignoring her; either way, Jemma gave in first. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, nothing dear… I just wanted to see how the auction went the other night. You know the Hamiltons were there. Did you say hi to them?”

She could feel her eyes narrow as she listened to her mother’s obviously forced casual tone. Something was coming, Jemma just wasn’t sure what. “We did see the Hamiltons, Mum. They send their love and asked where you and Daddy would be vacationing this year. I told them I’d ask.”

“We? Who did you go with, Jemma?”

Shite. She’d put her foot in her mouth. She hadn’t exactly told her mother she’d be using Fitz as her plus one, given how coolly her parents had first reacted to him. It wasn’t that they disliked Fitz, they simply didn’t understand him, and would worry about the impression he made on their friends. 

“Fitz came with me, Mum. You know him. He’s been to dinner with us before.”

“Oh! The engineer. All Georgia would tell me is that he was Scottish and agitated, but seemed quite devoted to you. Wouldn’t leave your side the entire night.” 

Jemma sighed. They were going to have this discussion for the umpteenth time it seemed. “I’ve told you and Daddy both, we’re just friends. That’s all we are and all we’ll ever be.” The cringe that came over her face as she said the last part was involuntary, even though the statement was true. She only hoped it wouldn’t show through in her tone. 

“I’m not so sure. William seems to think-”

The mention of her ex-boyfriend’s name caused Jemma to sit up suddenly as her temper flared. “I don’t care what William seems to think. William was too busy shagging his secretary, and I caught him at it. That’s why we broke up, Mum, not whatever nonsense he’s been spreading about Fitz and I.”

Knowing full well she’d pay for it later, Jemma hung up without so much as saying goodbye to her mother and flung herself back onto her pillows, dropping her phone on the floor next to her as she did so. She knew she should tell Fitz, or text her sisters to see how upset their mother was, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. It could wait until she had slept for a few more hours. 

~*~ 

Fitz knocked on the door at Jemma’s flat before letting himself in. “Jemma?” he called out, glancing around before hearing the shower was on in the bathroom. Dropping his own bag on the couch, he carefully tapped on the unlatched door to the loo. “Jem? I’m here, okay? Jus’ wanted t’ warn y’ so y’ dinna come ou’ here naked or anythin’.” 

His rather explicit dreams definitely didn’t need any more fuel, especially that. His imagination was doing just fine at filling in those details. 

Peeling off his coat, Fitz glanced at the clock. It was 10:30, so Jemma had plenty of time to finish getting ready. He was already in his clothes, the well-cut jeans and fitted (deep green, this time) shirt flattering his slim build and fair complexion. By the time Jemma came out of the shower, he was cross-legged on the couch with his laptop and a cup of tea, barefoot and completely at home in her space while he waited on her. 

She grinned at Fitz’ warning and plea that she not randomly pop out naked. While she might occasionally forego clothing while alone, she’d never do that when she was expecting company, and certainly not when she knew Fitz was coming by. Although, she mused, it would be entertaining to see how many shades of red he might turn if she did wander out without a towel… but no, Jemma couldn’t do that to Fitz. It simply wouldn’t be fair. 

She shut off the water, and after tightly wrapping a towel about herself, slipped out of the bathroom. She paused for a moment in the doorway of her closet to call out a soft greeting to Fitz, waving before she pulled the privacy curtain across it and dropped the bit of terrycloth and proceeded to get dressed. 

The dress she selected made Jemma grin as she glanced over it; the material was a bright shade of purple she usually never wore, and the bandage paneling hugged her curves quite nicely, but what she liked best was the neckline, where two strips of fabric crossed in the space above her bust. It called attention to where she wanted it without having to hang out, something that appealed to her more modest nature. She made quick work of slipping into it, wiggling a bit to do up the zip before pushing the curtain back and revealing Fitz once more. 

She quickly gathered the wedges she wanted to wear, and dropping them outside of the closet stepped out herself to greet him properly. “Hey,” she said with a little nod, settling onto the couch arm nearest him to towel dry her hair a bit more before she actually tried to style it. “You never did tell me where we were going tonight.” 

Thankfully Fitz had seen the dress when she bought it, so it wasn’t entirely a shock when Jemma padded out into the main room with the slinky dress on. The rich violet practically glowed against her skin, showing off the curves Jemma rarely bothered to put on display. 

He quirked an eyebrow at he when he pulled his attention from the laptop, shrugging one shoulder. “To a differen’ club. One o’ the ones I usually go t’. Is no’ a gay club, so you shouldna feel out o’ place. Although honestly, there are usually a fair number o’ women a’ those, too,” he acknowledged. “But we’ll try this one firs’ and see wha’ y’ think.” 

Almost three hours later, Fitz was regretting his choice. He should have taken her to one of the gay clubs. While Jemma had danced with him at first, once she’d gotten a few drinks in her system and relaxed, she’d started accepting invitations from other men. And since Fitz had no real claim on her, he had to grit his teeth and stay quiet even as he kept an eye on her. Claim or no claim, if someone got out of line, Fitz was going to handle it. 

There were some familiar faces in the crowd, and Fitz danced some too - he wasn’t that creep who stood on the sidelines and watched as though he had nothing better to do. And he wanted to have a good time, too. Fitz had just expected they would be having fun together. 

His blue eyes narrowed when he caught her latest partner getting a bit handsy - but Jemma’s smile was bright and flirtatious, and just before he was about to sidle over and cut in, she got handsy right back. And kissed the guy. As in full on, tongues tangling, making out in the middle of the dance floor, kissed the guy. 

Feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach, Fitz retreated to the bar, asking for another double shot of scotch. 

Perhaps it was the pulsating bass, or the alcohol, or the dress, or even some combination of the three, but Jemma felt good. Good in a way she hadn’t felt in a while. That was likely why when her latest dance partner, a tall, dark-skinned man with an easy smile and deep voice, ran his hands over her waist and hip to pull her in closer she didn’t resist. But kissing him… that was all her. He was cute, wanted to dance with her, and she couldn’t see a real reason why she shouldn’t kiss him. Besides, Jemma reasoned, wasn’t this the entire point of going to these clubs? For her to experience new things?

He was a good kisser, leading her without over powering, and so she didn’t think twice when he led her to a darker corner of the club, backed her against the wall and did it again. Jemma merely wrapped her arms about his neck and proceeded to get lost in the feeling of kissing someone new. That was until he grew bold enough to ask if she wanted to go to his or hers. 

Coming to her senses, Jemma declined his offer, he graciously accepted her refusal, and she wandered back into the main area, searching for Fitz. It took her a minute to spot him, but eventually she saw his mop of curls near the bar and weaved her way through the crowd to stand next to him. She noticed then that his face seemed rather pinched, as if he’d rather be anywhere but that club at that moment.

Brow furrowed in concern, Jemma leaned in to speak in his ear. “Hey. You about ready to go?”

Fitz wasn’t surprised when Jemma came wandering back over - but he was surprised by her words. He’d been more than half expecting her to let him know she was leaving with her new friend, and had braced himself to hear it. Never mind that he’d already decided that on the nights he came out with Jemma, he was leaving with her, no questions asked. No matter who he met. He’d come in with her, he’d leave with her. Fitz somehow hadn’t thought about the opposite happening until tonight. 

And so he blinked stupidly for a moment, his slightly drunken mind taking an extra beat or two to process Jemma’s words. “Oh. Oh, uh, yeah. We can go whenever y’ wan’, lass.” 

Jemma’s head cocked to the side as she tried to place what sounded off about Fitz’ words. Something about them seemed almost surprised, as if it were more likely that she would ask him to lasso her the moon than to take her home. The image of him trying to do just that, lasso her the moon, caused Jemma to lapse into a few vodka-induced giggles before she was able to pull herself together enough to address Fitz once more. 

“C’mon, Fitz,” she said, looping her arm loosely around his waist, “if you’re ready, let’s go home.” 

Fitz was sober enough that he caught Jemma’s confused head-tilt, but he didn’t care to enlighten her just then. “Alrigh’, c’mon. Le’s ge’ out o’ here,” he agreed, finishing off the last of his drink and sliding the glass back across the bar. “There’s a diner down the way. We can stop an’ ge’ something to eat if y’ wan’, or we can head back to Bayswater an’ I can raid your kitchen.” 

~*~ 

By mid-May, they had it all running like clockwork.

Coffee and breakfast at least once a week while Jemma was on shift, and on the days she wasn’t able to sleep, she’d bring Fitz lunch, often staying to lounge on the couch he kept in his office while he finished his work. Her first night off, they’d go out dancing, typically to one of Fitz’ favorite places. Jemma noticed after that first night out after William that they tended to stick to gay bars, but she didn’t mind. William had been a disaster, and aside from liking the attention she received from men at the other places, she wasn’t looking for more than that. 

The day after a night out was always her favorite, particularly on the nights they slept in the same place. They’d both have a lie-in before dirtying one of their kitchens making breakfast and once that was settled, would sprawl over the nearest sofa to watch TV or work on their laptops. It was comfortable and routine, yes, but for someone like Jemma who thrived on that sort of thing, it seemed rather perfect. 

Fitz was rather pleased with the state of things as well. Most of his free time was spent with Jemma. And even though it meant juggling his time in the lab to make himself available when she was off work and awake, Fitz couldn’t be irritated with that. Not when Jemma’s presence in his life made him so much more at ease than he was naturally. 

They talked, they argued, they bickered and snarked - well, realistically, Fitz did the vast majority of the snarking - but everything always settled back into their comfortable baseline of mutual respect and friendship. 

It was after a particularly good night out that everything changed. They’d gone back to that first club - the one where Jemma had made out with a random guy - and had a fantastic time. Jemma stayed fairly close to him this time around, dancing with him most of the night. Given a few drinks, Fitz forgot all the reasons he wasn’t supposed to be attracted to her and let himself enjoy having Jemma pressed against him, bodies moving to the heavy beat of the music. 

Fitz was definitely drunk when they left to head back to Jemma’s, loose and laughing, his arm curled around Jemma’s slender shoulders as they found their way onto the bus to Jemma’s flat. And caught up in all the feelings that had built up during the course of the night, he lost enough of his usual inhibitions to draw her in for a hug when he went to leave Jemma at her door. 

Except unlike his usual hugs, this one was accompanied by Fitz’ mouth on hers, warm and exuberant with a hint of tongue, and for the life of him he didn’t understand what had taken him so long to just kiss her. A piece of him knew he’d never have done it without the help of the alcohol. Another wondered if things would be different tomorrow – if he’d lose her for this. 

He shoved the doubts aside and when he pulled back, it was to give her a bright grin. After all, what was a little kissing between friends? “Nigh’, Jem. I’ll talk t’ y’ tomorrow,” he said, before bounding down the stairs and off into the night. 

Jemma knew that the pleasant buzz working its way through her veins had as much to do with the nearly absurd amount of alcohol she had consumed as it did with the way Fitz had been stuck to her all night. Typically when they went out, they danced together but never as closely as they had this evening, with a scant inch between them, and what made it even more noticeable was that each time another man approached, she had felt Fitz’ hand ghost just over her hip. The touch was never heavy or controlling, but had sent a little shiver down her spine and certainly had been enough to keep other men at bay the rest of the night. 

But even with his odd behavior, nothing had prepared her for what happened at her door, the way Fitz’ mouth had slanted over hers as he brushed his tongue against her lower lip. It took her brain a moment to process what was happening, and just as Jemma decided to get her arms around him to return his kiss, he had pulled away and was bounding down the stairs. By the time Jemma had gathered her wits enough to call after him, she heard the outer door shutting behind Fitz, and let herself into her apartment instead. 

Reaching into her purse for her phone as soon as she was inside, Jemma fired off a text to him.

Fitz [02:54]: What the hell was that?

Fitz blinked at the message and sighed. He should have known he wouldn't get off that easily. The alcohol won again though, and his reply was flirty and playful. 

Jemma [02:59]: Depends. What do you want it to be?

He shoved his phone back in his pocket and didn't look at it again until morning, falling straight into bed when he got home.

Jemma stared, wide eyed and with her toothbrush dangling from her lips as she read his response again and again. Fitz was flirting with her. And he was forcing her to question what it was she wanted from him. Which was nothing, right? She was perfectly happy with their friendship as it was, and besides it was ludicrous to even be entertaining his question. Fitz was gay and had always been gay, as far Jemma knew… so why in the hell would he kiss her then flirt when she asked him why?

A quiet, traitorous little part of her brain spoke up, poking and prodding at her. Admit it, it whispered. You’ve always thought Fitz was cute, but unavailable. Who cares who he’s kissed before, or his motivation? You just want it to happen again. 

The little voice was right, as loathe as she was to admit it. She did want it to happen again, if only so she could have the chance to kiss Fitz properly and see what happened after that. Jemma finished brushing her teeth and switching into her pajamas before she slid into bed, her phone still in hand. Nibbling her lip, she thought for a moment and eventually tapped out a carefully worded reply.

Fitz [03:09]: No fair running off before I could respond. I want a do over. 

Jemma hit send before she could second guess her reply, and after setting her phone down on the bedside table, rolled over and attempted to drift off to sleep. 

A different notification woke Fitz the next morning, but he saw Jemma's text first when he thumbed into the screen. He laid there in his bed for a long time, staring at her words.

In the light of day, sober, he didn't regret kissing her, but if it seemed like his moment of impulsive affection was going to ruin their friendship he definitely would. 

Her text clearly indicated she wanted to do it again, though, and Fitz could only reread it over and over again, searching for some other meaning that clearly wasn't there. It took him some time to gather the nerve to reply back and say what he wanted to, a teasing comeback that would hopefully hint that whatever happened, they would still be okay. 

Jemma [07:41]: To be a proper do over, I’ll have to catch you by surprise again  
Jemma [07:41]: Do try to respond before I run off this time? 

When she saw his reply the next day, Jemma sucked in a breath as she blushed, already anticipating when he would kiss her next. Fitz' text gave her no clue, other than implying that she’d have to catch him before he left again. Perhaps, she wondered, her blush giving way to a grin, if she kept him from running off she’d get more than one kiss. 

Shaking her head, Jemma set her phone to the side and did her best to go on living her life. Still, she found she was rather distracted most of the time, wondering just when her friend would follow through on his promise. 

A couple of days went by, and though Fitz saw Jemma at least once each day, there wasn’t a good moment to make good on his promise. And things were weird - Jemma seemed nervous enough of him that he was starting to second-guess his understanding of her text. The other half of him said she was just nervous because she knew he was supposed to surprise her… and Jemma wasn’t always good about surprises. 

And so, the following morning, Fitz got up extra early and went to Jemma’s, letting himself in and moving to stand out of her sight behind the door when she came in from work. And as soon as she’d shut the door behind her, Fitz stepped in and caught her close to him for another warm kiss. His mouth slanted over hers and parted enough for his tongue to tease Jemma’s lips while his fingers stroked her cheek and jaw. 

Jemma had been ready to give up on Fitz kissing her again, all set to chalk it up to emotions being high and free-flowing alcohol when he caught her by surprise. Like that first night, Jemma had to take a moment to realize what was happening before she could react. But when his scent hit her nose that mix of soap, metal, heat, and the barest hint of his cologne that she’d learned to associate with Fitz, Jemma managed to jar herself into action. 

She allowed her bag to drop off her arm and onto the floor with a heavy thud before she got her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him and her lips parting beneath his own. This kiss was more heated than their first, stretching out longer and their tongues proving to be far more inquisitive than she had expected, leaving Jemma light headed. 

She found herself reluctant to pull away, despite her growing need for oxygen. If this was the only chance she’d be getting to kiss Fitz, she wanted to make it last as long as she possibly could. 

He was intensely relieved when not only did Jemma latch onto him to keep him from running this time, but she kissed him back. Fitz had only been imagining this in his dreams since February or March (along with many, many other things), but reality was nowhere near what he’d expected. Jemma had clearly lost herself in the kiss, and her eyes, when she drew back, were dazed and glassy. 

“So I guess this is where I repea’ my question,” Fitz said quietly. “It depends. What d’ y’ wan’ it t’ be?” His lips pressed together and he visibly steeled himself to add, “I’ve been thinkin’ differen’ly about y’ for a while, an’ I dinna know wha’ i’ means, bu’... I’d sort o’ like t’ try.” 

She’d never seen that particular shade of blue in Fitz’ eyes, nor had Jemma seen him look quite this serious. Or, she realized with a jolt, nervous. Adjusting the grip she had on his jumper so her hands were pressed flat to his back instead of fisted in the material, she worried at her bottom lip and considered his words carefully. 

His confession that he had begun to think of her differently startled Jemma; she hadn’t suspected in the least, although the way he had kissed her had certainly changed that. Just the memory of Fitz’ mouth on hers and the lingering feeling of his fingers on her cheek were enough to make Jemma’s breathing shallow. 

Her common sense was screaming at her that this was a bad idea; she’d end up being the girl who fell in love with her gay best friend only to be left in the long run, but she couldn’t help her curiosity. Nodding, slowly at first and quickly gaining speed, Jemma met Fitz’ eyes and licked her lips. 

“I don't know what you mean by 'try,' Fitz, but a bit of snogging wouldn't be amiss."

Fitz bit his lip, even as he smiled, the expression somehow managing to be a little cocky and yet shy at the same time. He couldn’t help the bit of pride that Jemma had been obviously affected by his kiss - that didn’t happen all that often when kissing other men - but he was also unsure. “I think I can manage snogging,” he nodded. 

His fingers drifted down from Jemma’s cheek to her shoulder and drew her in for a hug. “I dinna exactly know wha’ I’m doin’, so you’ll have t’ forgive me if I make a mess o’ things.” 

His words pulled a tiny, disbelieving laugh from Jemma. As if a man who kissed like that wouldn’t know what he was doing… but it occurred to her that Fitz meant more than not being a good kisser, that he was very likely worried about the state of their friendship as well. William had been more than enough of a test for them for one lifetime, and this… this would be something else entirely.

Still, Jemma wanted to try, so she tightened her hold on him and pressed herself more fully into his hug. She took a moment to savor the feeling of Fitz, warm and solid against her, before pressing a kiss to his cheek and whispering, “It’s not just you, Fitz. It’s us. We just won’t let ourselves make a mess of it, yeah?”

Relieved that she was taking the entire idea so easily, Fitz tipped his head to rest against hers for a moment. “I’m jus’ really confused, yeah? I mean… is always been guys. I dinna know if is jus’ you, or if I’ve changed, or if this will even work. I… I dinna want t’ mess everythin’ up. No’ again,” he whispered. 

At least now, maybe, sharing the confusion with her instead of holding it all in might make some sort of difference. If Jemma was willing to help him figure out all the tangled things in his head. 

Jemma pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, and felt her heart flutter a bit. Yes, he looked confused, but there was a bit of hope and boyish excitement there too that made her stomach swoop in a rather pleasant manner. 

Pushing up onto her tip toes, she kissed him once more, soft and sweet this time before stopping to reassure them both. “That just means we work at not messing everything up. We talk to each other, honestly, about what’s going on, and if we need to…” Jemma swallowed a bit, not liking what she was about to say but knowing it had to be said. “If we think we need to, we stop for the sake of our friendship.” 

With a soft smile, Jemma pulled away, although she did manage to catch his hand in hers and laced their fingers together. “C’mon, Fitz. We can talk more about this later. Help me with breakfast first.”

Fitz gratefully followed Jemma into her small kitchen, starting their recently perfected routine of moving around each other without bumps or awkwardness to make breakfast, with each of them having their own set of tasks to accomplish. And later, if Fitz snuck in a kiss or two while they were curled up together to watch a movie, it was what it was - Jemma had given him the okay, and until she told him no, Fitz was going to get used to it the same way he’d done with all the rest of Jemma’s affection.


	16. Chapter 16

Fitz was curled on another couch, only this time he wasn’t nearly as comfortable. He’d just admitted to Dr. Thornton that he’d been kissing Jemma, and the older woman had him pierced with her dark eyes, one eyebrow winged up in question. “We- we’d gone out tha’ nigh’ and had a really good time. I’d had a few drinks, yes, bu’ I made the conscious decision t’ kiss her good nigh’. I’m sick o’ bein’ so bloody confused abou’ her. If is nothin’, then I’ll know soon, righ’?” he said defensively. 

“Leopold, you may hope to settle some of your questions about yourself,” his therapist conceded, carefully picking over her words as she watched her patient, “but I’m curious as to if you’ve thought all of this through. And I mean really thought it through, not only in terms of what it means for you, but for Jemma as well.”

“Wha’ do y’ mean? I dinna know abou’ any o’ this… I mean, I’ve always liked men, as long as I can remember. Bu’ I started feelin’ this way abou’ Jemma… How can I think through anythin’ when I’m so ou’ o’ sorts abou’ all of i’?” His brows furrowed, puzzled by the doctor’s phrasing. Jemma had said yes to all this, so why was Dr. Thornton insinuating there was an issue with Jemma? “Jemma’s my bes’ friend. An’ she said i’ herself, tha’ if this starts t’ threaten our friendship for any reason, is over.”

The doctor suppressed a sigh; she wasn’t sure if he was being purposefully obtuse or really was just clueless as to what she was talking about. He was intelligent enough, but not always emotionally aware, and might not realize the consequences of trying to involve his friend in sorting through his confusion. 

“Let’s take a step back and talk about your entire relationship with Jemma, not just this latest development. Hopefully we can shed a light on it.” She waited for his small, uncertain nod before continuing. “You’ve mentioned Jemma before, but only as your friend. Yet you just said you’ve been confused about your feelings for her. That takes time, Leopold. I’d like to know why you’ve been avoiding mentioning these developing feelings here in therapy.”

Fitz bit at his lip, hesitating. “I’ started while tha’ mess was goin’ on while she was spendin’ all her time with William. An’... I dinna know. Is no’ feelings, exactly. I started havin’ these dreams, an’, well...” His skin flushed pink at the memory, partially from a blush and partially from his own physical reaction to those thoughts. “I’ve never though’ about women tha’ way, so I jus’ though’ I was bein’ weird, a’ first.” 

“At first? What do you think now?”

“I’m still no’ entirely sure. Bu’ is no’ like I can jus’ have sex with my bes’ friend t’ find ou’,” Fitz frowned at the question and answer. He’d never been in a proper relationship and there had always been a sharply defined lines between his friends and his partners. It already felt dangerous, even blurring the line this much with Jemma. 

Dr. Thornton nodded as he spoke, glad that he finally seemed to be thinking of how, exactly, this could impact his friendship. 

“If you couldn’t just have sex with her to find out, why do you think snogging her would be any better? Isn’t there just as much potential for confusion there, on both your parts?” She fixed him with a steady gaze only to have him quickly look away. “From what we’ve discussed here, Jemma is the first person you’ve grown close to in quite a while, and given when these dreams started, I would wonder whether or not it isn’t just jealousy over not having her full attention.

“Leopold, regardless of how you’ve chosen to identify and who you’re attracted to, I would strongly recommend being certain in your motivations here before proceeding further.” It was as close as she would come to telling him what to do; as much as she could be there to help him sort through things, it was ultimately up to him to follow through. 

Fitz bristled at the implication that he would ever deliberately hurt Jemma. “Because is jus’ snogging. It doesna have t’ mean anythin’ pas’ tha’,” he grumbled, reaching for his bag. “Jemma an’ I are on th’ same page. We both know wha’s goin’ on. If i’ doesna work, we’ll go back t’ bein’ jus’ friends.” He was certain of that. 

Fitz wouldn’t let her friendship go - not unless Jemma told him to. And she’d never do that. Would she? 

That thought chased Fitz as he gathered his things and made his way back to Imperial College. Dr. Thornton had lost her mind. Fitz wasn’t toying with Jemma. He just wanted to figure out what his dreams and all these new feelings about her meant. If he wasn’t gay, or at least not completely gay, there were far worse people for him to try to be in a relationship with. Jemma would forgive a lot of mistakes. 

He quietly canceled his next few appointments with the therapist through her secretary and ducked the doctor’s calls for the next week, angry that she’d questioned him so. Even so, Fitz questioned what he was doing, because despite his claims, he wasn’t entirely sure. He felt like he wanted to be with someone. But had Thornton been right that he was latching onto Jemma because he already knew and loved and trusted her? What if it was really just jealousy? Was he only using her? And what about sex? Fitz wasn’t inexperienced at it, but he’d never been with a woman, even to kiss one, before Jemma. Thinking about it just felt… weird. 

And he was still picking up guys now and then, although certainly not as often as he was before. 

Caught up in trying to figure himself out, Fitz didn’t realize that he seemed off - and distant - to Jemma. 

During that period of time, she did her best to ignore whatever was happening, trusting that he would talk to her whenever he felt comfortable. However, for the first time Jemma could remember while she was with Fitz, but he wasn’t fully present; not when they were eating, or cuddled together to watch a movie, or when he kissed her. Before, it was odd to describe, but she could feel him there. His focus was on her, what she liked and how she responded to him, but now… she had no idea where it was, but it wasn’t with her on her sofa. 

Still, Jemma tried to kiss him through it, ignoring the niggling little feeling in the back of her mind that something was terribly wrong, that was, until he nipped at her a bit too firmly. 

“Ow!” The exclamation was soft, but enough to cause Fitz to pull away with a start, blue eyes wide. “That hurt, Fitz,” Jemma chided gently as she backed away, lifting a hand to her mouth to check for blood. Seeing none, she looked back at him, eyes slightly wounded, and decided that if she was ever going to push the issue, now was the time. She steeled herself to hear him say he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this anymore, praying she wouldn’t end up crying as a result. 

“You’ve been a bit off for a while, Fitz. Do we need to talk?”

Fitz startled back to himself when Jemma drew back from him with a soft cry. He’d reached a potential breakthrough on his project in addition to his feelings about what was happening with Jemma, and between the two he felt like he couldn’t focus on anything. Certainly he hadn’t meant to get distracted while kissing her, and definitely not to hurt her. “Shite, I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately when he realized what he’d done, reaching to carefully rub his thumb over her lip. “I didna mean t’ do tha’.” 

Her question took him by surprise - Fitz hadn’t realized she’d noticed anything - and his sandy brows furrowed. “I’ve jus’ go’ a lo’ on my mind, tha’s all,” Fitz said quietly, not wanting to discuss his feelings when he wasn’t sure if she’d be hurt by his lingering confusion. 

His words did little to reassure her, although the gentle way he reached for her did. She inched a bit closer to him once more, wanting the comfort of being near him. Carefully, she snaked out her hand to find his, and laced their fingers together, giving his a gentle squeeze. 

“You know… whatever it is, you can talk to me, Fitz. I’m still your friend above all else.”

He’d grown far more comfortable with touching her and being touched since they’d started this, and Fitz was grateful for that as he used her hold on his hand to pull Jemma in. “I know,” he murmured, cradling her against his side. “Is no’ tha’ I dinna want t’ tell you. I jus’... there’s a lo’ o’ stuff righ’ now. Dr. Thornton pointed ou’ some things tha’ I’m sortin’ through. An’ I don’ really want t’ talk abou’ i’ until I’ve go’ a handle on i’.” 

Fitz shrugged one shoulder, reaching with his free hand to trace her swollen lip again, hoping that was from the previous kisses and not his accidental nip. “I didna really hur’ y’, did I?” 

Jemma caught his hand with hers and, holding it in place, pressed a quick kiss to his fingers before softly shaking her head. “No, Fitz, you startled me more than anything else.” She tried to give him a smile, but couldn’t quite make it spread to the rest of her face. Her mind was still lingering on what he had said about his therapist. 

Jemma had never pushed before about his appointments or what he discussed in therapy; despite having easy access to that information if she chose, she knew it would be a huge breach of trust in their relationship, and she simply wasn’t willing to risk that. Besides, Fitz mentioned Dr. Thornton often enough that she knew he was seeing her regularly… or at least she had known. Lately, he hadn’t mentioned appointments on his usual days, not in weeks. That concerned her. He saw a therapist for a reason, after all.

“You’re still seeing Dr. Thornton then?” Jemma asked, purposely keeping her voice neutral. “You just haven’t mentioned an appointment with her in a few weeks,” she explained when she saw the confused look cross his face, “and I wasn’t sure if she told you she was comfortable cutting back on them or what.” 

His shoulders eased when Jemma kissed his fingers and relaxed into his hold, only to tense again when Jemma mentioned his appointments. He didn’t want to lie to her. Absolutely didn’t. But he also knew that Jemma, as a doctor, wouldn’t approve of what he’d done, and he couldn’t explain it right now to try and make her understand. 

“I, ahh,” Fitz stumbled over the words before finally just saying what he needed to say. “Dr. Thornton an’ I are on a bi’ o’ a break righ’ now,” he admitted. “Tha’s part o’ wha’ I’m thinkin’ through, along with the things she pointed ou’ in our las’ meeting.” It was honest without going into too much detail about what had gone wrong. Or that it hadn’t been a mutual decision, for him to end his treatment. 

She didn’t like Fitz’ tone, or the way he seemed to be talking around something instead of stating it directly, but Jemma couldn’t find anything wrong with what he said. Not on the surface at least. She opted to not think about it, wrapping her arm about his waist and holding him close. 

“All right,” she whispered, turning her face upward toward him and letting her lips ghost against his jaw, “if that’s what you two agreed. Just promise me you’ll keep up with her. Please?” She was worried Fitz would get caught up in his work at school and slack on his personal care. Jemma wanted nothing more than for him to find success with his project, but not at the risk of his health. 

Fitz knew Jemma wasn’t stupid. The little twist to her mouth told him Jemma knew there was something not right with his words, but he could only hope she wouldn’t push and thankfully she didn’t. He gave her crooked, slightly sheepish little smile. “Dinna worry abou’ i’. Is been a long time, I think I’ll be okay if I’m no’ in therapy every week for a bi’. Gives me more time in the lab anyway.” 

With any luck, the new information he’d gotten last week would lead to the breakthrough he’d been looking for. If the new formulation of fuel worked the way he hoped, designing the engines and fuel system would be a breeze and his success virtually guaranteed. Fitz couldn’t afford any distractions that might disrupt his work process, and Dr. Thornton’s provoking questions were definitely doing that. Jemma on the other hand… well, he wasn’t giving her up. He’d have to work around it if she continued to unfocus him like this. 

Realizing he was off in his own thoughts again, Fitz tipped his head against Jemma’s and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. “Want to watch a movie? Or Doctor Who?” 

Something still felt off, but Jemma knew Fitz wasn’t going to talk about it, not before he was ready. In that case, cuddling and a bit of the Doctor’s antics were perfectly all right by her. Particularly since that meant getting Fitz to cuddle up to on the sofa. 

“Who sounds nice,” she agreed with a grin, leaning into him to encourage him to lie back on the cushions. Once she had him where she wanted him, Jemma stretched out, too, her back pressed to Fitz’ front, and tugged a throw blanket over them. She grabbed the remotes and navigated to the next episode in the series, quickly pressing play, and pulled his arm across her waist, lacing their fingers together once more. 

Fitz settled in behind her, unhappy and quiet. He didn’t like keeping things from Jemma, at all. 

~*~

Two days later, Fitz had the breakthrough he’d been hoping for and found himself tied to his lab for the next several days straight. Jemma stopped by to make sure he was feeding himself, but he was even more distracted, frantically - and giddily - testing the fuel with great success. He’d always been called brilliant, but it was the first time that Fitz really felt it. 

Now for the engine design and fuel system and he’d be ready to present it to the foundation who’d been funding his grant all this time for them to shop it out to small plane manufacturers to test. He was so caught up in the thrill of spying light at the end of the tunnel Fitz failed to realize that the lack of sleep and the stress of trying to complete the project was wearing him down and making him short tempered and unstable. He wrote off his inability to sleep as just excitement, stubbornly refusing to consider that anything was wrong. 

Jemma did her best to take it in stride, cheering him on when he first told her the news of his breakthrough and biting her tongue when he started working twice the usual amount. She missed seeing him, along with the cuddling and kissing that came with his visits, but understood the kind of manic energy that could overtake someone in the midst of this kind of project. 

So, instead of nagging, Jemma did her best to take care of Fitz when he wasn’t taking care of himself. She kept him fed, dropping off a double-sized lunch for him at the lab each day and quietly switching out his coffee for non-caffeinated tea or water when he was pressing the boundaries of too jittery, even for someone with a lab deadline approaching. This meant that instead of going home and sleeping there after a shift, Jemma only stopped home for a shower and change, made Fitz his lunch, and then spent her day at the lab. True, she dozed on the couch he kept there, but that flea-bitten looking thing was nowhere near as comfortable as her bed or even Fitz’ sectional, and she soon had her own deep purple marks marring her usually bright eyes. 

Which was why when, nearly two weeks to the day after his initial breakthrough, Jemma snapped. She had brought him lunch, and instead of the excited smile Fitz used to give her when she came, she was greeted with a quick nod before he turned back to his data. She let that, along with his brusque answers roll off her back, but it was when he commented on the lunch she’d brought him, waspishly asking how much aioli she thought his sandwich needed, that she snapped. 

“What the hell is your problem, Fitz?” She slammed her own sandwich down on the desk and glared at him, hands fisted tightly on top of the lab bench. “I’ve been nothing but supportive, bringing you food so you don’t have to leave the lab and trying to see you what little I can, even though we don’t discuss anything other than fuel cells and alternate energy and your latest data anymore. But still, here I am. So, I repeat, what the hell is your problem?” 

She meant to wait for him to give her a response, but Jemma grew so irate watching him, his face stunned and eyes somewhat vacant that she simply couldn’t stay there any longer. Gathering the remains of her lunch into her own bag and grabbing the rest of her things, Jemma took the time to throw him one last look before she stormed out of the lab. 

“Come find me when you’ve managed to stop being a bastard.” 

Fitz honestly didn’t realize he was being a jackass. He was never good at emotions to start with and he was so far into his own head at that point he’d lost sight of everything except what was directly in front of his nose. And Fitz wasn’t one to suffer quietly, either, so the stress of everything was making him snappy. He’d trusted that Jemma would say something if he got out of line, but he hadn’t expected it would happen like this. 

Startled by her tone and only catching about half of her words at first, it took him far too long to redirect his train of thought and even compute what she was saying, much less to respond. By the time he’d truly focused on Jemma, she’d already crossed the line to furious and had snatched up her bag. “Jemma? Jemma, wait!” he called, but she’d already let the door slam behind her. 

And Fitz couldn’t go after her because he had simulations running that had to be monitored and adjusted. 

Slumping back against the lab bench, Fitz scowled down at the floor, his heart pounding with fear. What if he’d driven her away? 

He pulled out his phone, thinking to text her, but after a minute of staring at the screen Fitz slid it back into his pocket. He’d fucked up. He’d let her calm down and then go try to fix it. 

Fitz crawled home to Highgate late that night when he finally found a good stopping point in his work, intending to sleep in his own bed instead of on the lumpy old couch at the lab for the first time in more than a week. He set his alarm early enough that he was able to beat Jemma to her flat the following morning. 

Except he fell back to sleep on her couch waiting for her to come home.


	17. Chapter 17

Jemma was feeling, in a word, wretched. 

She was tired, having been run ragged on a particularly busy shift and still feeling drained from screaming at Fitz. That’s all it had been, really, an emotional venting of her anger and frustration with him, and if she were honest, her confusion over what, exactly, they were doing. All they had agreed on was kissing, and they certainly had been doing plenty of that, but lately Jemma had found herself wanting more.

It was particularly bewildering, since she hadn’t expected that in the slightest. She had expected to have a good time, not this niggling feeling of worrying whether Fitz was still seeing other people. Like Anthony. The very thought made her stomach churn, even though Jemma knew, logically, that she had no reason to be. Snogging Fitz didn’t give her any kind of claim to him. 

No matter how badly she might want it to. 

Which was likely why her heart clenched a bit in her chest when she saw him passed out on her sofa, one arm tossed over his head. She wanted to stay mad at him, but she simply couldn’t. With a resigned sigh, Jemma set her bag down as quietly as she could and slipped into the kitchen to put on the kettle. She prepared their mugs, and once the tea was ready, carried them both out to where Fitz was still sound asleep. 

Setting them down gently on the low-slung coffee table, Jemma indulged herself and allowed her eyes to wander across him, a faint smile pulling at her lips as she did so. Careful not to startle him, she reached down a hand and ran her fingers through his curls, as she'd become accustomed to doing whenever he fell asleep on her. 

“Fitz?” she called. “Wake up. I have tea for you.” 

Fitz sleepily shifted toward her touch, far less guarded in his sleep than he would have been awake. It took him a few minutes, exhausted as he was, to drag himself out from under the weight of sleep. Blinking blearily up at her, a soft and sleepy half-smile on his face, it took him a bit to remember why he was sleeping on her couch and the expression to turn sad and serious. “‘M sorry, Jem,” he said first, knowing it was most important. “‘M an ass. An’ stupid righ’ along with i’.” 

Jemma’s heart fluttered in her chest as Fitz craned his neck to press into her hand and gave her that sweet smile. It was the one she usually saw whenever they woke up after a particularly restful nap, and always made her want to kiss him. She could feel her frustration and anger with him begin to slip away, and gave him a solemn nod in response. 

“You certainly can be an arse,” she acknowledged, “but you’re mine so I’ll keep you. Shove over a bit?” Jemma waited for him to shift toward the back of the sofa, leaving her enough room to sit just beside his hip. Angling her knees toward him, she worried her lower lip and carefully considered her next words. “I appreciate your apology, but I wish we weren’t at the point where one was needed.” Her look was pointed, but not wrathful. “Just… do try to remember that I’m not the one hounding you for quick answers, and that if I so chose, I could probably poison you and leave none the wiser?”

He had the grace to look ashamed of himself even after Jemma’s tense expression softened. Sliding back and up onto his side, Fitz made room for her even as his cheeks went a bit pink at her comment about being hers. Given the way he’d been neglecting her lately, Fitz was surprised she hadn’t run him out of her flat on sight. 

“Y’ shouldna have le’ me get away with tha’ as long as y’ did, if i’ was botherin’ y’,” Fitz said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m terrible a’ bein’ nice on a good day, much less when I’m this stuck in my work. I’m dreamin’ abou’ this bloody engine, is tha’ bad.” She seemed to hesitate before making her other comment and Fitz eyed the mug of tea, risking teasing her a bit even as his fingers crept over to curl around Jemma’s knee. “An’ now I’m nervous abou’ tha’ tea.”

Fitz’ fingers were warm where they folded themselves over her knee, and despite the heat, Jemma felt herself shiver. They had touched each other plenty, between snuggling up together and a few rather heated snogging sessions, but something about that felt intimate, almost unbearably so. Forcing herself to ignore the feeling of his fingers through her scrubs, Jemma reached for each mug of tea and took a sip from each. She paused for a moment after, and head tilted to the side and one corner of her mouth turned upward, made eye contact with him. 

“I haven’t dropped dead. Satisfied?”

Jemma shifted so she could lean comfortably against his torso without hurting him, elbow propped on the back of the sofa and head resting on her hand, and held his gaze for a few minutes. Her expression turned serious once more as she said, “I just figured with the hell I put you through with William and that fiasco, you deserved a bit of leeway.” 

He bit his lip at that reminder. “Yeah, well, I’d rather no’ think abou’ tha’ any more than I have t’. An’ is no excuse, really. Dinna le’ me ge’ away with bein’ a jerk, especially if i’ seems like I dinna know I’m doin’ i’.” Fitz’ blue eyes were pleading as he looked up at her, perched above him. “I hate when you’re brassed off a’ me, so I’d rather no’ piss y’ off in the firs’ place.” 

Fitz started to reach up to tug her down to him for a kiss but hesitated, his hand lingering in mid-air before falling back down to his side. He still (on top of his stress over his project) hadn’t come to a good resolution about Jemma and his feelings for her. Maybe kissing Jemma to help make things better and put him back in her good graces was unfair. Probably. 

Glancing away, his eyes fixed on where his fingers were still wrapped around Jemma’s knee and sighed. 

All it took was a moment’s indecision for Jemma to say something. She was tired, true, but not so much so that she missed the way he nearly reached for her and stopped himself. That, more than anything, stung; she had grown so used to Fitz’ gentle, albeit hesitant, affection that the very idea of not receiving it felt very much like a punch to the gut. She couldn’t just let that slide.

“Fitz, what is it?” 

Jemma bit her lip and desperately hoped he wasn’t about to say they needed to stop what they were doing. 

His eyes slid back up to Jemma's face as soon as he heard her breath catch, and even though her question had been concerned, he caught the hurt, too, now that he was looking for it. 

Levering himself up from the sofa, careful not to bump her, Fitz sighed and shook his head. He wondered briefly when it had become natural to feel like he could - should - reach for her and close the already scant distance where they faced each other. "Is nothin'. Things are jus' all tangled up in my head. No' your fault'." If anything, Jemma's usual empathy and understanding only made it more difficult to knowingly do anything that would hurt her. Like explain he wasn't sure he could be with her beyond what they already had. 

“C’mon, drink your tea. Y’ need t’ sleep, lass,” he urged, knowing she’d worked all night and had to be exhausted. “I can stay awhile. If y’ wan’.” 

Fitz’ words made Jemma’s stomach drop heavily. They didn’t tell each other everything, necessarily, but she couldn’t help but think that it didn’t bode well if he wasn’t willing to tell her what, exactly, was all tangled up in his head. She averted her eyes and reached for her mug, and took a sip as she considered whether or not she wanted to push the issue. Ultimately she decided against it; she didn’t want to resolve one tense situation only to potentially walk into another, particularly when it would be tense because she couldn’t compartmentalize as easily as she had thought. 

“I need a shower, first,” she said, quietly, still staring into her mug, “then sleep.” Jemma nibbled her lower lip, weighing her desire to be close to Fitz against her concern with what, exactly, was brewing between them. Desire ultimately won out, however, and she managed to quirk a smile at him as she pleaded a bit. “Would you lay down with me, just for a bit, once I’m out of the shower?”

His fingers tightened around Jemma’s knee, thumb rubbing over the soft, worn cotton of her scrubs. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do tha’,” he said quietly, unable to resist the little smile and pleading tone, even as he worried about the conflicted expression from moments before. 

Fitz knew Jemma wasn’t stupid, and that he’d been distant and snappy since hitting this point on his project, but things had been off even before that - since his last appointment with Dr. Thornton. He had to find some way to broach the topic with her, to talk through this the way they did everything else. 

But the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, and not knowing his own feelings - or hers - was terrifying. 

What if he was making a big deal of this and Jemma didn’t care? It didn’t seem like her, but she had said that about wanting to be with someone without strings after William, and she knew he could do it. Or thought he could. Fitz was getting more and more tangled up in her and his emotions and his sexuality and it was all a mess. Except when he got physically tangled up in kissing and cuddling Jemma. Then it was easy. 

Puzzling through things the whole time she was in the shower, by the time Jemma got out he had made himself at home on her bed, sprawled to one side and hugging one of her pillows to his chest. 

Jemma took her time in the bathroom, not wanting to seem overly eager to slip into bed with Fitz even though the very thought sent a pleasant buzz from the tips of her ears to her toes. It wasn’t even purely sexual… well, not always, although he undeniably made her squirm when he took his time kissing her, taking her apart bit by bit until she couldn’t help squirming against him and sighing into his mouth. 

The fact was, Fitz was a good kisser, and more and more often, Jemma found herself wondering what else, exactly her best friend was good at. Particularly with those rather dextrous fingers she’d seen him put to work in his lab. 

With that thought, a heavy blush joined the buzzing feeling, and Jemma steeled herself to slip into the main room of her flat, clad in a pair of cotton sleep shorts and a loose tee. She grinned when she spied Fitz curled up in her bed, and tugged down the opposite side of the covers to join him. She had settled a few inches away when she reached out to tug the pillow away from him, only to quickly replace it. Her arm draped across him easily, and Jemma felt her muscles begin to relax bit by bit as she melted into Fitz. 

Fitz was lost in his thoughts still, only just pulling his attention toward her when she forced it there by cuddling into his side. Sighing quietly, he lifted his arm to circle Jemma’s shoulders, making a space where he’d grown accustomed to her being. 

He knew they’d reached a point where he needed to talk to her. Fitz wanted to be able to talk to Jemma about what he was thinking and feeling, but he didn’t know how to say it without potentially breaking their friendship along with whatever they were doing right now. Fiddling idly with the ends of Jemma’s hair, Fitz sighed again and finally spoke, hoping that circling around to it might make things a little easier. 

“So y’ know I’m no’ seein’ Dr. Thornton anymore,” he said into the silence. “Is because she didna like any o’ this. Suggested the only reason I changed things between us was because I was jealous o’ William and afraid o’ losin’ y’ t’ someone else.” 

His words were oddly flat, hanging in the air between them, almost as if Fitz were merely reciting facts he’d learned in school, although she could feel just how tense he was against her. Jemma had suspected that Fitz had stopped seeing his therapist, but had merely thought it was because he had gotten caught up in his research; the fact that he had told someone else about what was transpiring between them, and that jealousy had been suggested as a motivator sent an odd thrill down her spine, even as her stomach clenched in concern. 

Jemma supposed she shouldn’t be all that shocked by what he had said. It made sense, in a way, and she could see why his doctor would ask that question. Nibbling her lip, Jemma tilted her face up toward him, wanting to see his eyes. As of late, he’d been less guarded with her, and she had quickly learned that if she could get at least a glimpse of his eyes, she could know exactly how the situation was likely to play out. Now, he seemed more nervous than anything else, and Jemma assumed it was because he wasn’t sure of her reaction. 

“Well,” she began, carefully keeping her voice gentle so she wouldn’t spook him any more than he already was, “it makes sense, in a way, but it’s only one woman’s opinion. What do you think?” 

It wasn’t that Jemma didn’t trust his doctor, just that what mattered most to her was Fitz and how he was feeling. His doctor could develop all the opinions she wanted, but the deciding factor was ultimately the man lying beside her. 

Fitz sighed and glanced away, only to turn back and sneak a glance at her before letting his eyes fall shut. He wasn’t ready for this conversation, but Jemma was too perceptive and his feelings were getting in the way of everything so he had to acknowledge it at the very least. “I dinna know. Maybe?” he offered. 

“I might think i’ was only tha’, bu’ I started havin’ dreams… An’ is no’ like I dinna enjoy… I think y’ know tha’, a’ leas’,” Fitz continued, stumbling over his words in his nervousness. It wasn’t like he’d never gotten aroused when they’d been making out. She had to have noticed at some point. Steeling himself, eyes still closed to avoid seeing her reaction, he blurted out what was really bothering him. “I’ve never been interested in women before. I dinna know if is jus’ you, or if is a fluke an’ a’ some poin’ I’ll stop, or if I could completely give up pickin’ up guys t’ be with y’, or how things could even work with us. I’m so bloody confused and is no’ gettin’ any better.” 

By the time he got to those last words, he was breathing heavily, fingers trembling with nerves. Fitz tried - he really did - to stay where he was, to let Jemma’s affection soothe him, but he couldn’t manage it. Not when there were no guarantees on how she’d react. Pulling away first would hurt less than waiting for her to do it. That thought alone was the last straw, sending him scuttling back from Jemma and up onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. 

Fitz' withdrawal was nothing compared to the way his words startled her, although it still stung to watch him as he sat at the edge of her bed, shoulders hunched as he shielded his face. In truth, he hadn't said anything Jemma hadn't already considered; she had merely opted to ignore the fact that Fitz was likely still seeing men even as he snogged her. It was his right, after all, since all they had ever agreed on was a bit of kissing here and there. 

It still ate at her a bit, though, but she pushed it aside to focus on him. She hated to see her friend like this, clearly hurting and upset over what could laughably be called a confusing situation. The urge to reach for him was too strong to overcome, and Jemma sat up in bed and slowly inched her way over to him. 

“Fitz?” she called, voice a tad shaky. “Please, stay with me.” She reached out a tentative hand, her fingers brushing against the seam covering his shoulder before she allowed her fingers to curl around it. She heard his breath hitch and felt him tense briefly in response to her touch, but he didn’t react more than that. Taking that as an okay, Jemma slowly but surely worked her way closer to him, moving inch by careful inch so she didn’t send him into a blind panic, until her chest was pressed against his back, her arms loosely wrapped about his waist and her forehead tucked against his shoulder. 

“Don’t go, Fitz,” she whispered into the soft cotton of his shirt, eyes shut tight against the tears that were threatening. “We can talk about this. We should talk about this. All relationships are confusing at first, and it only gets better if the people involved talk about it openly.” 

Fitz stayed still and tense in Jemma’s hold, only just keeping himself from shying away from her gentle affection. He didn’t deserve her, or her understanding. Just her words alone, the quiet acknowledgement they were in a relationship of some sort, was enough to reinforce his fears that he was only going to break her heart and their friendship in the end. He’d be back to being alone again, and Fitz wasn’t sure he’d survive it. 

Not after the way he’d fallen apart back in March. 

Which only circled him back to wondering if he was doing this for the right reasons. 

“”M no’ leavin’,” he mumbled out, the words muffled by his hands. The steady warmth of her, both physical and emotional as she knelt there behind him and curled over his back, was comforting. Reassuring, even, that she still wanted him there, despite his awkward blurting out of the main things bothering him. “I dinna want t’ hurt y’, Jemma. An’ I’m scared tha’ you - we - migh’ get in over our heads an’ ruin everythin’. I canna lose y’. I can’t.” 

The words came out aching and broken, halting. Fitz swallowed hard when he was done, his back lifting slightly under Jemma at the combined force of that and the heavy sigh that followed. He didn’t realize he was shaking until he caught the faint vibration of it where his hands were still splayed over his face. 

Despite being physically impossible, Jemma was certain that she could feel her heart breaking in her chest. It was the only explanation she could come up with for the tightness in both her chest and throat, and for why she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes from tearing up. 

She bit her lip firmly, though, and screwed her eyes shut to focus on the man in her arms, doing her to best to quell his shaking by snugging her arms about Fitz a bit more firmly. She leaned up to pressed a firm kiss to his cheek as well, holding there before she found her voice once more. 

“I promised you earlier, Fitz, that you won’t. It might take work, but I won’t leave you. You’re my best friend in the world, and… and I can’t imagine a life without you in it. I don’t even want to try, really.”

Fitz finally lowered his hands then, fumbling to find hers where they laid over his chest and stomach. “You’re my bes’ friend too. Y’ know tha’,” he said, voice still low and hesitant. “I jus’... I dinna do well when I dinna have a se’ plan for things. Or have any idea how things are gonna turn ou’. With all this an’ then my projec’...” 

He stilled again in Jemma’s hold, sucking in another breath. “I… maybe…” Fitz’ brain spun the idea and latched onto it fast, saying it quick before he thought about it too hard, because he instinctively knew it was the right thing to do. “Can we… step back a li’l. For a few weeks? Jus’ until I can ge’ through the project. I have t’ have the design done by the end o’ the month, an’ then I’ll have until September to focus on… everythin’ else.” Maybe it would be easier to puzzle through this without the added stress of the potential implosion of his career if he didn’t come up with a viable engine design to go with his new fuel. 

Eyes still tightly shut, Jemma nodded and threaded their fingers together, even as she fought her own panic over his words. Logically, they made sense. She knew just how big his project was and what it meant for his future, and she hated to do anything that would jeopardize his chances of success; but there was still a part of her, the part of her that was becoming too attached and purely emotional where Fitz was involved, that felt fractured around the edges. Him asking to step back just seemed to be a nice way of letting her down gently. 

Still, Jemma was selfish, and couldn’t bring herself to give him up entirely. That would be hard enough to do if he asked her to, and she certainly wasn’t ready for that. Instead, she pressed another, this time gentler kiss to his cheek and pulled back, still sitting near to him but not draped over him the way she had been. 

“That’s fine, Fitz, if you think it’s for the best. We can take a few weeks to clear our heads.”.

Fitz’ fingers tightened around Jemma’s when she drew back, not letting her get too far away. Some of the tension easing out of him, he straightened from his hunched posture and shifted to try and get a good look at Jemma. Something in her tone told him she wasn’t okay, but he wasn’t any more certain in how to fix that than he was with how to handle his own conflicted feelings. 

“Y’ know tha’ means I’m still goin’ t’ tex’ y’ at all hours, come over an’ steal your food an’ all tha’, right?” Fitz risked teasing Jemma a little, shifting further around on the bed to half-face her. “I’m still goin’ t’ need y’ just as much,” he added softly. “An’ I hope you’ll still come pester me a’ the lab.” 

“Of course I’ll stop by. Someone needs to make sure you’re feeding yourself properly and not living off packets of crisps and God knows what else you find laying around.” 

Jemma carefully schooled her features into a smile, although she knew it was unlikely to fool Fitz in the least. He simply knew her too well to fall for it, but she was hoping he’d have the good grace to fake it for the moment, at least for her sake. She was too tired to sort through it all right now, even though she knew he was right and that it absolutely needed to be done. 

Just not now. Now, all she wanted was to slip back beneath her covers and get a few hours rest before her next shift, and she did just that, settling back onto her side of the bed and tucking the comforter up around her shoulders. That done, she risked making eye contact with Fitz, noting the way he peered at her, as if he were trying to read her thoughts, and snaked a hand out from beneath the covers to reach for him once more.

“Come back here and lie down with me, just until I fall asleep?” Jemma bit back the please that was on the tip of her tongue. It simply felt too much like begging, and the idea that she had to revert to that to get affection from Fitz was nearly too much to bear. 

He knew things weren’t okay. Jemma’s falsely bright smile wasn’t reassuring in the slightest, but Fitz kept reminding himself that he’d dropped quite a bit on her this morning and he couldn’t expect her to sort through it so quickly. It would be a day or two before he’d be able to bring it up again and hopefully talk through things. Or a few weeks, if he waited until he was totally clear of his project. 

At least she still wanted him around, Fitz thought to himself, hearing the sincerity in Jemma’s comment about feeding him properly. He meant it when he said the last thing he wanted was to lose his best friend. 

Her soft question tugged at him, and he could almost hear the unspoken please in the slight pause at the end of her question. “I can do tha’,” Fitz said softly, moving to slide under the blankets with her and curling in close to her side. “Go t’ sleep, Jem,” he urged, knowing she needed to rest before she had to go back in to the hospital, “We can talk more later.”


	18. Chapter 18

Sure enough, they were as good as their word, both Jemma and Fitz sticking to their usual routine, although Jemma found herself feeling a bit jumpier around him for a few days after, as if she were waiting for the engineer to press the issue once more. He never did, though, and she eventually relaxed fully, the memory of their discussion fading to something akin to a bad dream. 

Still, when she found herself milling aimlessly about in front of the employee door at London Bridge Hospital a week later after her shift, Jemma couldn’t help the way those feelings came flooding back. Walking to the Underground, she forced herself to remember that it was only coffee, and that it likely meant nothing that Fitz hadn’t shown up. But the faint sting of rejection clung to her, even as she showered, changed and slipped into bed. Thankfully, she dropped off quickly enough, and easily lost herself in a dreamless sleep. 

Fitz finally found the key to his new fuel system and engine design late one evening and excitedly threw himself into drawing out an entirely new schematic. Not coming up for air until the design was mostly done, he was startled to realize there was sunlight coming in through the clerestory windows in his lab - and dismayed, because it meant he’d stood Jemma up. 

He snatched up his phone and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that there weren’t any messages from her. Still, he felt bad - Fitz hadn’t expected to work through the night, although now that he was thinking about it, he was totally exhausted after a solid 24 straight hours of work. Certainly he was tired enough that the hour’s ride back to Highgate was out of the question. And there was the couch in his office, but that thing was terribly uncomfortable. 

And so, Fitz did what he’d have done any other day before he and Jemma had changed things, walking to her flat and quietly letting himself in. Except unlike before, he stripped down to his pants and undershirt and carefully eased down onto Jemma’s bed, curling up next to Jemma and quietly shushing her when she stirred. 

“Fitz?” Jemma mumbled sleepily, uncertain she really was seeing him slip into her bed. “What time is it?” Part of her was worried she’d overslept, but when he hushed her, covering up a yawn of his own, she pushed the concern away. Fitz wouldn’t let her skive off a shift, not when he knew how seriously she took her work, and content with that thought, Jemma allowed herself to drift off once more, the corners of her lips turned upward. 

When she woke up several hours later, Jemma found that Fitz had indeed slipped into her bed that morning, and that she had shifted closer to him in her sleep, taking advantage of the opportunity so she could pillow her head on his chest and wrapping an arm about his waist. She risked a glance upward, only to catch him cracking open one of his own eyes to look at her. Jemma gave him a soft smile and couldn’t resist teasing him a bit. 

“Well, this is certainly nicer than coffee.”

Fitz had the grace to blush, even as he groaned at the reminder of his mistake. “”M sorry, lass,” he rasped out, his voice lower than usual with sleep and dehydration after getting so caught up in his work. “I finally cracked th’ the problem with th’ fuel cells las’ nigh’ an’ go’ caugh’ up drawin’ the whole system again from scratch. Didna even realize wha’ time i’ was until almos’ 9.”

Stretching a little, feeling the heavy drag of exhaustion still weighing on him, Fitz ducked his head into her pillows. “I think ‘m gonna take the res’ o’ the day off. Sleep, an’ start fresh tomorrow, when my brain is back online.” He drew her a little closer to him, not thinking so hard about everything in his sleepy state. 

Feeling soft, warm, and pliable, Jemma easily went along with Fitz’ gentle tugging, content to relax against him and let his warmth spread through her. In the midmorning quiet of her flat, the moment felt perfect, between the soft cotton of Fitz’ undershirt beneath her cheek and the way his fingers were aimlessly drawing patterns over her shoulders. She sighed in contentment, and Jemma promised herself she wouldn’t move unless she absolutely had to.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, but you know that.” A wide yawn prevented Jemma from speaking again from a moment, but when she recovered she finished her thought. “Am I making us lunch in a bit, or are we ordering in?”

“Mmphm,” Fitz groaned a little, not wanting to think too much - if he did, he’d be fully awake again, and that was the last thing he wanted right now. “Up t’ y’. ‘M goin’ back t’ sleep. I think.” If she settled back down, he definitely would. Now that he was awake, he remembered they weren’t supposed to be quite this intimate anymore - when he’d laid down this morning he’d kept his distance - but it seemed their sleeping selves had no such boundaries. 

Jemma had tucked in against him so their legs were tangled together, his arms comfortably twined around her, one under her neck, the other draped over her slender body, and Fitz really didn’t want her to move. “Mm. More sleep. Defini’ly,” Fitz mumbled, his arms snugging just that little bit tighter around her to suggest that she stay put. 

“Sleep is good,” Jemma agreed, eyes drifting shut once more and allowing herself to relax against him once more. She wondered, briefly, if she shouldn’t retreat back to her half of the bed given their conversation a week prior, but the way Fitz held her close chased the thought from her mind. He had been the one to ask that they take a step back, but if he was going to snuggle up to her this way, Jemma was perfectly happy to follow his lead. 

Even if it did feel a bit like she was taking advantage of the situation. 

Fitz wasn’t thinking about that - even if he had been, they’d slept together like this long before kissing ever came into the picture and that part was black and white to him. Being able to be physically close to each other was part of their friendship, not the blurry part that had thrown him into such a tailspin. He could tell when she settled back in, tucking her head in against his chest like she was blocking out the dim light, and was asleep again a few minutes later. 

~*~

It took all the way up to the end of June to tweak the design and compile his final report. 

Fitz was entirely exhausted, but so pleased with himself and proud of his work that he practically floated through that last week. Including making a visit to Jemma’s hospital on her day off to sneakily talk to Dr. Singh and ask about the possibility of her getting a vacation. After looking askance at the young man in his office for the first few minutes, eventually the older doctor seemed to be rather charmed that Fitz was attempting to surprise his young resident with time away. And if the other man happened to get the impression that Fitz was Jemma’s boyfriend, well… If it worked to his advantage, Fitz wasn’t going to complain. 

He owed her, for just about everything. 

Arranging for her to get some time off, planning a trip, giving her a chance to relax and for him to hopefully figure some things out, was the least he could do. 

The bonus check for completing his project on schedule and under budget coming in to fund it helped, too. 

And so that Thursday he turned the ringer on for his phone, expecting to be woken at some point by a confused text or other communication from Jemma when Dr. Singh told her she had a week off. 

Jemma felt her brow furrow as she stared at her advisor, confusion etched onto every line of her face. It was possible that she was hallucinating; she had consumed far more caffeine than she knew was healthy, and was still coping with the adrenaline let down that came from seeing 10 patients back-to-back-to-back. It had sounded like Dr. Singh had just told her she had a vacation. 

“I- I’m sorry, sir, but did you just say I have vacation time for next week?”

He looked at her over his peaked fingers, evidently fighting to keep a smile from his lips. “That’s right, Dr. Simmons. Vacation time. Your boyfriend came in and arranged it.” Dr. Singh arched a brow at Jemma in an attempt to look stern but just couldn’t manage it and opted to glance at the clock instead. “I should speak to you about maintaining proper decorum when it comes to doctor-patient relationships, but as you haven’t made a habit of picking up strays, I feel we can let this slide this time.

“It’s 6:30. I think I can let you go home a half hour early. I don’t expect to see you until your next shift starts Next Sunday night. Go enjoy your time off. I promise, the hospital won’t fall down around our ears without you here.”

Jemma opened her mouth to protest, but found that the words died in her throat as soon as she made eye contact with Dr. Singh, and she instead opted for a quick thank you and ducked out of his office. No more than five minutes later, she was out in the summer morning, hailing a cab and headed for Highgate. 

The driver made good time with how quiet the city was, and after dropping a few notes into his hand, Jemma practically sprinted out of the cab and up the drive toward Fitz’ small cottage. She fumbled her keys a bit at the door, but as soon as she was inside called out to him, heedless of the early hour. 

“Leopold Fitz, you sneak! We need to talk!”

Fitz had gone to sleep late and blearily stared out toward his bedroom door at Jemma’s call. She sounded… Was she angry at him? He pushed up in his bed, scrubbing his hands over his face and trying to wake up as she appeared in the doorway. “Wha’s wrong?” 

He looked so adorable, rumpled from sleep and barely awake that Jemma forgot for a moment to be upset with him. Still, she couldn’t let him off that easily, and arched a brow as she leaned against his door frame to level him with a look. 

“You went to my boss.” She paused, waiting to see if he’d catch up on his own. When he still gave her a blank look, Jemma explained further. “About me taking time off. Without telling me.” 

Fitz had crossed a definite boundary when he’d done that, although Jemma wasn’t certain he realized it. It just seemed rather intimate, and Jemma wasn’t surprised in the least that Dr. Singh had mistaken Fitz for her boyfriend; she couldn’t imagine a friend doing that, after all. But, it was Fitz, and he was absolutely clueless about these kinds of things. Jemma just decided to let it slide. 

“So… are you going to tell me what, exactly is going on, and why I need a full week off?”

“Are you mad?” Fitz said immediately, not sure if he was reading her right. “I go’ a bonus check from the foundation for finishin’ the project an’ I wanted t’ take a trip, an’ I though’... y’ dinna have t’ go if y’ dinna wan’.” The twist of nerves - and a bit of hurt - in his stomach had him glancing away. He’d thought he was doing something good, but she definitely wasn’t happy about it. 

Although, the trip through Scotland on the actual train they’d used for the Hogwarts Express and a few days on the Isle of Skye wouldn’t be nearly as interesting to him without her company. 

She was still silent, and Fitz stomach sank completely. “Never min’. Is no’ a big deal. Y’ can jus’ enjoy the vacation time. Y’ havena taken a break in all the time since I me’ y’.” 

“And who am I supposed to use my copious amount of free time with if you’re off gallivanting around somewhere?”

Jemma allowed her mouth to curl into a smile now, and pushed off the frame to wander closer, eventually settling at the edge of his bed near his hip. “Fitz, I’m happy to go somewhere with you,” she reiterated, allowing her hand to rest on the knee nearest to her in a bid to draw his attention back to face. “Just tell me what I need to pack and for how long.”

Part of her wanted to give him a hard time about going to Singh without her permission, but he looked so put out she simply couldn’t. Besides, her interest was piqued, and she was far more curious as to where he was taking her then taking the mickey out of him. 

“Fligh’ t’ Inverness Saturday mornin’, a few days on the Isle of Skye, coming back Thursday on the train. The one they used for the Hogwarts Express for par’ o’ the trip, an’ then a regular one,” Fitz said, hurriedly babbling out the plans he’d made, still uncertain despite her hand on his knee. “I mean’ it though… y’ dinna have t’ go if y’ don’ want t’. I didna want t’ go alone an’ I was so damn glad t’ be done with the projec’, I migh’ have gotten ahead o’ myself.” 

He had at least thought enough to give her a day or two to pack and do whatever she needed to before they left, and another day or two before she had to go back to work when they got back. If she went with him. 

Fitz glanced back over at her, lip caught in his teeth. “If y’ hate the idea, we could do somethin’ totally differen’, too.” He wasn’t set on anything, really. The Isle of Skye had come up mainly because it gave easy access to the far point of the Hogwarts Express - really called The Jacobite - train route. 

“Fitz, relax,” Jemma encouraged, squeezing his knee a bit and leaning toward him. He looked so nervous, she was a little afraid he’d send himself into a tizzy. “I mean it, I’m happy to go. It sounds like a nice getaway. I will be here Friday night, bag packed and ready to go, since it’ll be easier to get to the airport together instead of trying to meet there.”

He finally looked like he was accepting what she was saying, and Jemma closed the last few inches to press a kiss to his cheek. “You might try to deny it, Fitz, but you are a sweetheart. A sneak, too, but the good kind. Thank you for doing this.” 

She had no idea why, but Jemma just had a feeling that ultimately, this would be good for them both. 

“Are y’ sure?” Fitz slipped in between her comment about about coming over the night before, but Jemma continued on, bringing a deep, vivid blush to his fair cheeks. “I am no’,” he protested. “Is no’ like I was entirely unselfish, wanting y’ t’ come with me. Bu’ I also usually dinna have money t’ do anythin’ like this, an’...” 

He sighed and hesitantly reached to lay his hand over Jemma’s where it still rested on his knee. “I probably should have asked firs’,” Fitz admitted, his mouth quirking into a slight frown. Jemma might not be mad at him, but he was only just now realizing he’d gone about this all wrong. At least she was still willing to go. 

Jemma wrinkled her nose a bit and her mouth twisted into a pout as she recognized the signs of Fitz turning in on himself. She hadn’t wanted that in the slightest, and had only meant to make him realize that a bit of a heads up would have been nice. “Hey,” she whispered, releasing his knee in favor of threading their fingers together, “I mean it, I’m excited to go. This is easily the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, and I know it’ll be loads better than Paris was.” 

She gave his fingers a small squeeze and him a bright smile as she nudged his hip a bit with hers. “Now, shove over a bit so I can lie down? I came straight from work, and could use a bit of a nap before I go home.”

~*~

That Saturday morning, Jemma had no problem springing out of bed. She felt very much like a child on Christmas morning, eager to see what the day would bring her. Well, she knew what it would bring: her trip with Fitz. It should have been rather mundane, but the prospect of a week together, with nothing more to do than sightsee at their leisure filled Jemma with an unexpected giddiness. She got to have Fitz to herself, without work or anyone else interfering, and she couldn’t wait to get going. 

Fitz was pleased to see Jemma up and about, bright and chipper as she bounced into the kitchen to join him as he fixed a bowl of cereal. “The flight isna until 1, but is ou’ o’ Gatwick, so we’ll need t’ ge’ out there in time t’ ge’ through security an’ all tha’,” he told her, knowing she didn’t have any of the set details of his arrangements yet. “I’ll email y’ the collection o’ booking emails an’ all tha’ before we go, jus’ in case.” 

He moved to carry his bowl to the table, leaving things out for Jemma, if she wanted a bowl as well. “An’ I never though’ t’ ask, since i’ never came up, bu’ can y’ drive, lass? I’ll be rentin’ a car in Inverness t’ get t’ the cottage, an’ get us aroun’ those few days.” 

“It’s been a while,” Jemma tossed over her shoulder as she poured her own bowl of cereal, “but I can drive. My license is up to date and everything.” Cereal in hand, Jemma slid into her usual seat at Fitz’ table and reached for the mug of tea he’d already made for her. She grinned at him over the rim of her mug as she took a sip and said, “I shouldn’t scare you too badly, or totally destroy the car.” 

Jemma nearly choked on her tea when she caught sight of Fitz’ expression, contorted somewhere between horrified and uncertain, and her laugh bubbled out of her throat entirely unbidden. “Oh, Fitz, relax. I’ve never had a serious accident or received a citation. I can help with the driving, no problem.”

“I’m no’ so worried abou’ y’ helpin’ with the drivin’ as I am jus’ in case if somethin’ happens t’ go wrong,” he pointed out, making a grumpy face when he realized Jemma was making fun of him. “An’ jus’ for tha’, I may no’ le’ y’ drive a’ all,” he shot back, sticking his tongue out at her in an entirely mature move. 

He tugged his computer toward him, thumbing the lid open to get into his email and forward Jemma all the trip details. “Jus’ abou’ everythin’ is paid for, excep’ the train tickets t’ Gatwick, the ferry trip and food,” Fitz made a point to mention. This trip was meant as a treat for both of them and he didn’t want her fussing over the finances of any of it. The bonus money he’d gotten from the sustainability foundation had been based on how much money he’d saved them, coming in so far under budget, and even after this he’d still have a sizeable nest egg set aside. 

Jemma toyed with her cereal, lazily skating her spoon between the flakes as she watched Fitz from the corner of her eye. She had realized long ago, shortly after their tense dinner with her parents, that her friend was touchy about money. Well, not touchy as much as proud of his abilities. She could understand that, and his desire to be independent, and had kept quiet about helping with the trip so he wouldn’t feel like she was infringing on that. But now, she wasn’t sure she could keep quiet much longer. It just wasn’t right for him to pay for her way entirely. Particularly after she picked up her phone and went through the emails he had just sent her. She didn’t take the time to actually sum up everything, but glancing it over alone told Jemma it was more money than he should be spending on her, bonus check or no.

“Fitz, you’ve done so much already. How about I pick up the rest of the cost? Since it is our vacation after all, and I’d hate to just mooch off of your hard work.”

“Y’ didna ask me t’ do this, so i’ doesna coun’ as moochin’. An’ besides, I’ve still go’ somethin’ like eigh’ thousand lef’ after their li’l bonus,” he said, one hand on his hip as he stared at her across the table. “My contrac’ said I go’ 15% percent of my budge’ variance as an incentive t’ watch costs. I took advantage o’ tha’.” 

Still, he understood the desire not to feel like he was taking advantage of someone else’s finances, and shrugged. “If i’ makes y’ feel better t’ pick up those las’ few things, I’m okay with tha’, bu’ I really wish y’ would le’ me take care o’ it.” Fitz let the conversation fall into silence, letting Jemma consider while he dug into his breakfast and sipped at his tea. He was okay, either way. Besides, there were still going to be other incidental expenses. There always were. 

Lips pursed as she considered his words, Jemma allowed her eyes to wander a bit over him as he ate, taking in the set of his mouth and the way he steadfastly refused to meet her gaze. Fitz wasn’t the type to say something he didn’t actually mean, but he wasn’t above forcing himself through an uncomfortable situation, either, if he thought it would ease some of her anxiety. Jemma set her spoon to the side with a soft clink and licked her lips before speaking.

“If you’d like to pay for the remainder, that’s fine with me. But please, let me take you out to dinner one night while we’re gone. Wherever you’d like, so long as the bill comes to me when we’re done. Deal?”

“Alrigh’, tha’s fine,” Fitz agreed easily. He honestly wasn’t worried about it. He’d paid for the vast majority of the trip, including the airfare and the accommodations and the car rental. Letting Jemma buy him dinner wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of the trip. He really just wanted to give them both the opportunity to get away for a little while. And if there was a piece of him that also wanted to revisit their little experiment, Fitz wouldn’t object to that, either. 

He’d found himself missing Jemma more often and more acutely the past few weeks, the emotion even seeping around his single-minded focus on his project. Which had been irritating, since he’d been on such a short deadline. Fitz shook his thoughts free and refocused on Jemma. “I figure we can do one last check of our bags - make sure we’ve go’ everythin’ - an’ then head south? Is late enough we should have missed th’ mornin’ rush.” 

“Whatever you’d like.”

The words slip off Jemma’s tongue as she finishes her breakfast and washes the few dishes they’d used. It was part of the routine they’d developed, and she was more than happy to tidy up while Fitz double checked that they had everything they’d need. 

Once he was satisfied and everything was neatly back in place, they each gathered up their belongings and began the trek to Gatwick. During their ride south, Jemma wouldn’t help but stop and observe Fitz a bit; he was more carefree than she’d seen in weeks, and while he could never really be called carefree, Fitz’ smile was coming more easily than it had two weeks before. That alone put Jemma at ease and caused the uncomfortable feeling she’d been carrying to slip away. 

Maybe now they’d be able to really figure out what they were doing. She had been happy to pull back when Fitz had asked, wanting to give him whatever he needed to be able to focus on himself, but she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t been torturous for her. Jemma had found herself forcing her hands into her pockets or behind her back, anything to keep from touching him in a way that might cross the boundary he had asked them to put back in place. But now, on this trip, hopefully they could both get some answers to the question of what they were and put the issue to bed, for better or worse. 

Fitz was more relaxed. Possibly more relaxed and at ease than he’d been in months. 

For the first time since he’d left secondary school in Glasgow, he had a stretch of time where he didn’t have anywhere he had to be. During undergrad he’d been constantly working on side jobs to make ends meet during the summer and holidays. These two months were the first time he’d had both time and money for anything resembling a vacation. Not to mention his parents had rarely taken him anywhere. While some of his thoughts were on Jemma and what might happen on this trip, there was something guaranteed to happen even sooner that had Fitz growing more excited as they got closer to Gatwick Airport. 

Fitz caught himself fidgeting again during a stretch of silence on the train, knee bouncing, and shifted to look over at Jemma, expression excited. “Y’ know, even with all the bloody research I’ve done on them, an’ classes I’ve taken, this’ll be the firs’ time I’ve ever been on a plane?” 

Jemma’s eyes widened a bit as she twisted to look at her best friend, a bright smile forming as she took him in. She supposed she didn’t have an actual reason to be shocked; she knew that Fitz hadn’t come from money, and that it was highly unlikely that there’d been many family vacations when he was younger. 

“That’s exciting, Fitz!” she exclaimed, her own happiness for him showing through. “Are you nervous at all? Or should I not have asked that? Oh, I didn’t mean to make you nervous if you weren’t already…” Realizing that she was beginning to babble a bit, Jemma brought the fingers of one hand to her mouth, physically forcing herself to stop, if only so she wouldn’t create a problem where there hadn’t been one before. 

“Mostly excited. Maybe a li’l nervous,” Fitz admitted, making a little face as he reached to catch her hand and tug it down to rest on his thigh. He usually found it cute when Jemma babbled, although this time he probably could have done without the reminder that most people would be nervous about getting on a plane for the first time. Fitz, however, was more than aware of how a plane stayed in the air. He wasn’t worried about mechanical failure as much as cabin annoyances. Like small children. Or turbulence.

He glanced out the window as the National Rail train pulled into a stop, making note of where they were. Gatwick would be next, if he remembered the map correctly. “Is a shor’ fligh’ anyway. An hour an’ a half, I think?” 

“That seems about right,” Jemma murmured, distracted partially by keeping an eye on their belongings as well as the feeling of his hand, warm and a little rough, covering hers. “It won’t be bad at all.”

And in truth, it wasn’t. Security was a hassle, but standing in line with Fitz, trading jokes and random tidbits as they shuffled along with the rest of the crowd made it that much more tolerable. The flight and long, winding drive offered more of the same, and even though it was rather late when they finally arrived at their accommodations, Jemma didn’t feel tired in the least. In fact, she bound out of the car as soon as Fitz parked in the drive, a surprised, pleased smile stretching her mouth wide. 

“Fitz!” she called, eyes trained on the house even as she moved to begin taking their luggage out of the boot, “It’s adorable!” Jemma ignored his slight scowl at her use of the word “adorable,” but with it’s prime location on the water near the lighthouse, that was exactly the word the quaint little cottage deserved. 

He was in too good a mood to mind her enthusiasm too much, although he had considered Jemma’s comfort when he’d picked the accommodations. Fitz’ childhood home had been rather run down and often uncomfortable. His current flat, simple as it may be, was a vast improvement. Jemma, however, was used to finer things, and he wouldn’t make her suffer through roughing it. This place had been fully renovated to modern standards inside, despite the charm of the exterior. 

Picking up all but two of the smaller bags and juggling until he could carry them, Fitz directed Jemma to a small container where he’d been told the key was hidden, and had her let him into the small house. It didn’t take long for him to set everything down and for them to go poking through the house. Everything seemed to be in order, and Fitz was more than pleased. It was actually even more spacious than it had looked in the online pictures. 

Fitz motioned down the hall when they met back up in the kitchen area from their exploration. “I’ll let y’ have firs’ pick,” he offered, referring to the three available bedrooms. “Which one are y’ claiming?” Never mind that if recent habits when they were sleeping under the same roof held true, that they’d end up in the same bed regardless. 

She knew exactly which room she wanted, had known the minute she had laid eyes on it, but Jemma still hesitated before telling Fitz. It just didn’t seem right; he had selected and paid for the cottage, and she would have preferred to give him first choice of rooms. However, she also knew that he would just dig his heels in and insist on giving her the room she liked best. 

“The master, if you don’t mind,” Jemma finally said, a small grin tugging the corners of her mouth upward. There were twin skylights above the bed in that room, a detail that had charmed Jemma. She was hoping the weather would hold so she’d be able to stargaze a bit at night, and it also meant that there’d be plenty of natural light in the morning if she decided to curl up in bed with a book. It was exactly the kind of space she would have designed for herself if given the chance, and when she saw Fitz return her grin, she knew that he knew that, too. Something told Jemma that if she had tried to pick any other room in the house, Fitz would have found a way to insist she end up in the master instead, come hell or high water. It was just the type of friend he was, and it made Jemma adore him all the more. . 

Fitz’ grin quirked his mouth almost immediately. That bedroom had been one of the reasons he’d picked this place. Along with the kitchen. If they were going to be cooking their own meals then he wanted a decent kitchen to cook in. And he’d take the smaller one at the other end of the hall to give her a bit of privacy. Not that they seemed to need much of that, these days beyond showering and getting dressed. 

Fuck. He immediately realized that was the last thing he should have been thinking about, as his body reacted to both the thought and the realization they were alone up here together for the next five days. Anything could happen, and his mind was more than happy to fill in those blanks with more possibilities. Many of them things that Fitz still hadn’t come to terms with. 

Jemma was eyeing him and Fitz couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. He felt like an arse, thinking about her this way. Even though their snogging had gotten rather heated a few times and wandered into less innocent territory, Jemma had never asked for more. Not that Fitz would have known what to do if she had, but it made him uncomfortable to think that he was projecting his desires onto her when she might not be interested in anything else. Honestly, other than the kissing, Fitz sometimes thought that Jemma just liked having someone to touch, gravitating into his personal space whenever they were together. 

Not that he was much better. It had gotten to the point that when Jemma wasn’t sticking close to him, he wondered what was wrong. These last two weeks had been difficult, with Jemma keeping her distance, even though he’d told her he needed to step back. Hopefully they’d get this worked out and could go back to what they’d been before. 

Realizing he’d totally lost himself in thought, Fitz shook himself out of his musing and grabbed his bag. “Are y’ okay with stayin’ in this evenin’? Is really too late t’ do much of anythin’ righ’ now. It’ll be sunse’ in an hour or so.” 

“That’s perfectly all right,” she answered a bit distractedly, head tilted as she watched him gather his bag. He’d clearly been woolgathering, and Jemma couldn’t help but wonder what it had been about. It could honestly be anything, from the completion of his project to what they’d do for dinner, but a tiny part of her hoped he was turning his attention back toward them. 

It had been difficult the past two weeks, being allowed to touch him but only just so, and keeping herself from sneaking in a kiss or two when they wound up snuggled up together. Jemma hadn’t realized just how much she’d come to crave not only Fitz’ attention but his affection as well, in all of its forms. Now, she hoped that maybe they could inch back into that, if not more, and if he was still feeling as confused as he’d been a few weeks ago, well… they would work through that, too. Even though the thought of what would happen if Fitz decided he didn’t want more with her sent a shiver of anxiety through her. 

Brushing off the thought, Jemma picked up her own two bags and followed Fitz toward the bedrooms, only pausing in the doorway to call after him. “Should we at least do the grocery shopping now? Take a half hour or so to settle in and then see what we can find in town before just relaxing for the night?” 

“Eh, you’re probably righ’,” he admitted, even though he really didn’t want to go back out. But given the choice between going now and going early the next morning before he’d had breakfast… now would win out. “The town is further down th’ road from where we came in. No’ tha’ far, though. A few kilometers, I think?” 

Fitz put his bags in the room at the far end of the hall from the one Jemma had chosen, wanting to give her some privacy if that’s what she wanted. Just because he’d arranged this little vacation didn’t mean that everything had to be about him.


	19. Chapter 19

By the time they did the shopping, unpacked, ate and settled in, it was late into the evening and Fitz dropped into the deep couch with a groan, actually a bit sore from the small airplane seat and all the driving. It had been a long time since he’d been behind the wheel and focusing on the road for two hours and then the time to the store and back was tiring. So he was more than ready to sit back and not think about much of anything for a little while. 

Stifling a yawn, Jemma drifted after Fitz and delicately sat next to him, her legs curled beneath her. She waited a beat, trying to decide whether she should still be giving Fitz a wide before she realizing she really was too tired to care. She shifted then, stretching her legs out to the side and settling her head in Fitz’ lap, her back pressed against the back of the couch and one of her hands coming up to rest on his knee, fingers toying with the seam a bit as she glanced around the room. 

It was far larger than Fitz’ sitting room, although this couch didn’t seem quite as comfortable as his. There was a nice fireplace, though, and Jemma absentmindedly wondered if there was a stockpile of wood somewhere. Despite the still-bright sky, the air had a bit of a chill to it, and Jemma couldn’t think of many ways she’d rather pass the time than curled up in front of a fire with Fitz. The mental image of the two of them, snuggled together reading or just watching the flames dance sent a warm rush of affection through her, and she twisted onto her back to look up at Fitz, a sleepy smile spreading over her mouth. 

“Thank you, for planning this. You’re right, the time away will be good… I know I could use it.” Pulling her hand from his leg and reaching behind her, Jemma caught one of his hands in her own and brought it to rest on her stomach, their fingers threaded together. Running her thumb over his slightly callused palm, mapping it into her brain, Jemma asked, “Any thoughts on what you’d like to do tomorrow? The fairy pools look interesting, but we can wait for those later in the week, if you want.” 

Fitz wasn’t surprised when she settled in beside him, but he was when she laid her head in his lap. She’d been… not exactly distant, but Fitz could tell when they did manage to squeeze in a visit when Jemma was resisting doing something. There was a beat of awkwardness now and then from where they’d become accustomed to one pattern and he’d tried to force things back onto an old path. And then others where he slipped and let her in close again and it felt entirely natural to be that way. 

This was one of those moments. 

They were quiet for a bit, and Fitz was just reaching to run his fingers through her hair when she turned to look up at him, hazel eyes warm and almost gold in the fading light. “I though’ we’d figure i’ out over breakfas’,” he shrugged, “An’ no’ plan too much. I dinna want t’ try an’ see everythin’, y’ know?” As he spoke, blue eyes fixed on her face, he stroked over her hair, brushing the strands back from Jemma’s face. 

There was an odd look to Fitz’ blue eyes, something almost brooding that Jemma wasn’t quite sure she was comfortable with. She wanted to know what he was thinking, where his mind was wandering, and even though a tiny part of her screamed that it was egotistical to do so, she hoped it was because he was thinking about her. She promptly reminded herself that that was foolish, and cast her eyes back in the direction of their joined hands. 

“That’ll work,” she murmured, fascinated by the way his hand folded around hers, and the feeling of his restless fingers twitching against her own. Fitz was always in motion, or so it seemed, even when he was sitting still. If it wasn’t his leg bouncing, it was his fingers tapping, or, her personal favorite, his habit of licking and worrying his lower lip. Jemma glanced back up at him, flushing a bit when she realized he’d been watching her examine their hands all the while. “A few days or lounging and reading and generally doing nothing serious is exactly what a vacation should be.”

“We can go t’ the fairy pools an’ such, too, Jem,” Fitz murmured, not wanting to break the quiet mood. “Bu’ I dinna want t’ spend the whole week drivin’ an’ walkin’ an’ generally doin’ lots o’ stuff, tha’s all.” He ran his fingers through her hair in the meantime, slowly and making sure he didn’t accidentally pull. 

For all his initial hesitance, he’d come to look forward to the times when they could just spend time together in quiet conversation. To appreciate and enjoy that being close to another person didn’t have to come with pain and hurtful words. That loving someone could be a good thing and not a foolish mistake. 

He did love her, and there were days when he thought he might be in love with her, but he had no idea how to tell her that. Or if he should. Not until they’d talked through everything else that was circling in his head. 

One corner of his mouth twitched into a little smile when Jemma caught him still staring down at her, his cheeks turning faintly pink. “Wha’?” Fitz asked a little sheepishly. 

“Nothing,” she quickly replied, shaking her head slightly before turning her face up toward him once more. “I… I…” It was unusual for her, but Jemma struggled to find the right words to express herself. It had taken them so long to get to the point where they were comfortable touching each other this way, and only two weeks to have it all fall apart. The thought caused her mouth to turn downward, nose wrinkling a bit as it did so. 

At least they seemed to be moving back toward where they’d been, which had the twin effect of pleasing Jemma even as her belly swooped in anticipation of him kissing her again. She very much hoped he would, but didn’t want to press, in case he had ultimately decided his confusion over their attraction wasn’t worth their friendship. “I just missed this,” Jemma confided, squeezing his hand a bit before lapsing back into comfortable silence.

He’d known things had been a little strange, but Fitz truly hadn’t realized just how much his request to step back had affected her. Certainly not enough that she would say she’d missed being close to him. It hadn’t felt like they’d regressed that far, but he’d be a fool to ignore her feelings about it. The hint of hurt that lingered in her tone and the emotions playing over her face let on that he’d caused more damage than he’d realized with his confusion and impulsive choice. 

“‘M sorry,” he said softly, almost a whisper. “We can figure things ou’ now though, righ’? My projec’ is on hold until the grant people find a company t’ test everythin’ ou’. Told me t’ be ready t’ work again in September. I’m a’ loose ends until then.” Fitz would have leaned down to kiss her then, but he wanted her answer first. To hear her confirm that yes, she wanted them to try and sort through Fitz’ tangled feelings and maybe be more. 

Jemma leaned further into Fitz’ touch as his gentle tone eased away some of the uncertainty she’d been struggling with recently. He wouldn’t be asking if they could figure them out now, she reasoned, if he had decided she - they - weren’t worth it. It hadn’t been his request that had caused Jemma difficulty so much as the uncertainty of what she could and couldn’t do around him. Not wanting to frustrate or upset him further, she had drawn back a bit more than she had wanted, just to play it safe, only to wind up frustrated in the long run. Hopefully, wading into the issue together wouldn’t result in Jemma’s continued frustration in the future. 

“Of course we can, if you want,” Jemma replied, craning her neck to look at him once more. She was able to give him a genuine smile this time around, and shifted ever so slightly so she could look up at him comfortably without moving her head from his lap. Finally settled into a position she could tolerate for more than a minute, Jemma smiled up at him, easing back into her own skin and feeling content to just be with him. 

Fitz bent down to press a kiss to Jemma’s forehead, pleased that her smile had evened out and some of the worry faded from her expression. Her quiet agreement was reassuring, and he sighed as he sat back on the couch. He hadn’t consciously realized he’d tensed, waiting for her reply, but he could feel it drain out of him, relaxing his posture into more of a slouch back into the cushions. 

Comfortable and mostly content, Fitz let his eyes drift shut, his fingers still slowly combing through Jemma’s dark hair. “Th’ only reason I asked was because I couldna handle tryin’ t’ figure tha’ ou’ and still focus on work. Y’ know tha’ righ’? Tha’ it was no’ because of y’?” 

Her eyes drifted shut as Fitz’ did, and Jemma felt herself slowly creep toward sleep as he continued to play with her hair. She was so lost in the feeling that she nearly missed his questions. “Hmm?” she hummed in initial confusion. “Oh. I understand Fitz. Honestly, I do.” And she did; but there was a difference between logically understanding why something was happening and emotionally understanding it. It was the emotional aspect she had struggled with, despite knowing that Fitz would never do anything to hurt her. She tugged their joined hands up to press a reassuring kiss to his knuckles and then just allowed herself to drift. 

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Fitz was softly calling her name and she was blinking herself awake. With a sheepish smile, Jemma picked herself up off the sofa and quietly followed Fitz down the hall toward their rooms. She lingered in her doorway, watching him as took another few steps past her. She was sorely tempted to ask him to come sleep with her tonight, to hold her and just talk some more, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. She’d been needy enough as it was, and Fitz deserved some time on his own. She bid him goodnight and turned in, intent on getting a full night’s sleep and looking forward to a fully day of doing whatever they pleased in the morning. 

That was, until she actually tried to drift off. 

One of the dangers of the northern latitudes in summer was how bloody bright it stayed, and even though the sun was below the horizon, the sky maintained a slightly ruddy glow that was just too much to let Jemma drift off. She tossed and turned trying to find a position that would allow her to shield her eyes without inadvertently suffocating herself with the pillows or comforter, but it was simply impossible. Eventually, she quit, and slipping out of bed, took ginger steps down the hall to peek into Fitz’ open door. 

His room was darker than hers, thanks to the lack of skylights and drawn shades, and she could just make out the softly snoring lump beneath the covers that was her best friend. Jemma took another few steps toward the bed, stopping just at its edge to lean over and place a gentle hand on his back. “Fitz?” she called, “Can I sleep here? Please?”

Fitz sat there with Jemma on the couch for a good hour while she dozed. Until she twisted toward him in her sleep, her head nestling in against his belly, and his leg fell asleep, which was when he nudged her awake and urged her into her own bed. 

Once he’d continued down the hall to his own room, Fitz found he couldn’t get comfortable. The mattress wasn’t the greatest, it was an unfamiliar house, he was sore from being cramped into seats and he was distracted, thinking about Jemma. Something about that quiet little moment there in the living room had stuck with him, and Fitz couldn’t help but pick at it, trying to figure out what it was. 

Eventually, he fell asleep in his musing, only to startle awake at the feeling of movement behind him and a touch against his back. If Jemma hadn’t spoken just then, he’d have shied away, but he managed with just a shuddering little breath as he rolled over to face her. “Chris’, Jem,” he murmured. “Wha’s wrong?” After a second though, the pleading expression on her face registered and he realized what she wanted and tugged his blanket down. “Y’ could have jus’ crawled in, lass. C’mon.”

Fitz was sleepy enough he didn’t even realize the contradiction between his welcoming words and the way he’d instinctively drawn back from the unknown touch.

Jemma slipped in between Fitz’ sheets easily, sliding close to him and seeking his warmth. Her arms wrapped around him, head nestled against his chest, and Jemma quickly felt her breathing even out as she relaxed. She typically would have said it was the darker space that made it easier, but she knew it was her bedmate, in truth. Fitz, for all of his wild assertions and somewhat frantic way of approaching problems, had a calming effect on her that Jemma had learned to accept without questioning. She murmured a quiet, “Good night, Fitz,” and easily drifted off for the rest of the night. 

Having Jemma beside him didn’t fix everything that had kept Fitz awake, and it took him some time to drift again. By morning he was grumpy and sore, and slipped out of bed early. Perched on the edge of the bed, he buried his face in his hands, trying to scrub the groggy feeling away. 

It didn’t work, of course. Between the lack of true sleep and everything else, he felt heavy and slow. Even Jemma’s presence there with him didn’t help other than sending a flush of warmth and affection through him. He felt her stir behind him and frowned. Fitz hadn’t meant to wake her. He turned, pulling one knee up on the mattress and wincing when his back pulled. “Go back t’ sleep, Jem. Is early.” 

Even with the early hour, and the last remnants of sleep clouding her mind, Jemma didn’t miss the way he’d winced when he moved. Brushing off his suggestion, she sat up against the headboard and laid a gentle hand against his shoulder, allowing her fingers to flex into him a bit. Even in just Fitz’ shoulder, and through the material of his t-shirt, she could feel exactly how tense he was and her mouth twisted in sympathy. 

Between the train, the flight, and the drive to the cottage, Fitz had spent the majority of the day in cramped, uncomfortable seats. Jemma realized he must still be carrying aches from yesterday, and pushed on his shoulder, encouraging Fitz to sit with both legs over the edge of the bed as she slid in behind him, legs bracketing his hips. “Here,” she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep, “let me see if I can’t help.”

When he didn’t protest, Jemma carefully began working her way over his shoulders, seeking the knots of muscle and doing her best to work them out for Fitz. 

“Jem,” he protested when she levered herself up from the bed, “Is okay, y’ dinna have-” But her fingers sank into the knot of muscle on top of his shoulder and his words broke off with a groan. Just having her hands on him was good, but the warmth and pressure of Jemma’s nimble little fingers working at the tense muscles was near heaven. 

Fitz wanted to be able to really relax and enjoy it, if she was really going to give him a backrub, and tapped Jemma’s knee where it rested alongside his thigh. “Watch ou’, lass. Le’ me lie back down before I fall off the bed, okay?” Waiting until she’d moved out of the way, Fitz stretched out on his belly and laid entirely flat. “There,” he mumbled out, still tired, but already feeling less grumpy at the prospect of getting this sort of attention from Jemma, “Do your wors’, lass. Is been a long while since my back has been this ou’ o’ sorts.” 

Scrambling backward, Jemma waited patiently for Fitz to arrange himself on his belly, an affectionate, yet sleepy smile tugging at her lips. She rose up on her knees, set to straddle him so she could really put her weight behind it, when she paused. His shirt would really only get in the way; if Jemma really wanted to get those knots out, she should ask Fitz to remove the offending cotton. 

Worrying her bottom lip, Jemma wrestled with the unexpected moral quandary. She had a legitimate reason to ask Fitz to remove his shirt… so why did she feel like such a letch for even thinking it? She waited another few moments until wanting to help her friend won out, and she gently tugged at the hem of Fitz’ shirt. 

“Would you mind taking this off? It’ll be easier if I can get to your back and shoulders without the extra fabric in the way.”

Fitz twisted his head toward Jemma, eyeing her curiously for a moment. Was she really…? And yet, she had a point about the shirt getting in the way, even though it was going to be bloody torture to keep from reacting to Jemma. At least he was lying face down. 

Pushing up from the mattress, Fitz hooked his hand in the back of his collar and tugged the tee up over his head before dropping it on the floor next to the bed. At the very least he didn’t have to be ashamed or self-conscious over his body. While he’d suffer in comparison to someone like William, who was naturally both taller and broader, Fitz had done enough work to be acceptable in the gay community, which meant while he looked thin when clothed, he was decently toned underneath. 

He settled back down again, skin warmed by a faint blush from his earlier thoughts. 

Fitz’ questioning look had caused Jemma’s nerves to flare a bit, and now she was suddenly concerned about whether she’d been too forward, asking him to strip down. He’d done it anyway, but she’d caught the faint blush tinging his cheeks as he laid back down. Maybe he was uncomfortable with his body, although she couldn’t see why. 

He was definitely on the slender side, but what there was to him was nothing but ropy muscle. Jemma found that she had to shake herself out of her admiration of his build before she could finally toss her knee over Fitz, ultimately settling just over his hips. Doing her best to not squirm too much above him, she brought her hands back to his shoulders and began working at the knots she found there, working methodically down as she felt the tense muscle fibers loosen and give way. 

It was a pleasure to touch him like this, and Jemma’s mouth curled into an involuntary grin and she gave a happy little hum as her hands worked slowly down his spine toward the small of his back. “You weren’t kidding, were you? I might have to start doing this for you once a week.” She leaned down a bit to whisper to him, “Hunching over your workbench is no good for you either, Fitz.”

Jemma’s small hands were warm and careful as she started working, figuring out the right pressure and angle for each of his knotted muscles to loosen and ease back into place. Fitz groaned aloud when his trapezius released under her touch, and then others as she worked. She was stronger than she looked and yet gentle as she worked him over, and after a bit Fitz closed his eyes and simply let her work. His mind however, was in overdrive, imagining Jemma’s hands in other places, doing other things. 

How different would it be than all his previous experiences, with men?

And yet the guilt was there underneath, for thinking about Jemma that way, for not knowing what he wanted. The confusion of finding things he’d always believed about himself weren’t exactly true. And… as he continued on, Fitz realized that wasn’t quite true either. He knew what he wanted, and that was Jemma. The question was, would reality live up to his fantasies? And would he still want more with her after that? 

That was the real problem that was holding him back. He knew Jemma attached more significance to sex than he did. It could never just be an experiment with her. Not without hurting her terribly if he didn’t want it to happen again after that first time. Everything else… Fitz could handle being confused. With puzzling through the changes for himself. Anything else that being with Jemma might complicate. But he couldn’t bear the idea of hurting her. Or damaging their existing friendship. 

Her quiet words pulled him out of his musings, slow and edging back towards sleepy now that he was properly relaxed. “Those muscles are always tigh’ for one reason or another. Is no’ so bad, really. I’m used t’ i’,” he murmured. Her hands were down at the small of his back, digging in just under the waist of his pajama pants, and Fitz let out a soft whimper before flapping a limp, loose hand at her. “C’mere, lass,” he said, urging her to lean down further. 

Her hands stilled when Fitz bid her to come closer, sliding up his sides and hooking just beneath his shoulders as Jemma laid herself flat across his back and allowed their legs to tangle together a bit in the mussed covers. Her eyes slid shut and she nuzzled against Fitz’s shoulder blade, kissing it before she allowed her weight to relax into him fully. Aside from allowing her to get as close to him as she could, the position had the added benefit of stretching Fitz’ spine. 

And, she quickly realized, easy access for her lips. 

Still a bit sleepy herself, at least enough to not really care to keep her id in check, Jemma began alternating between nuzzling and kissing the skin of Fitz’ shoulder, working her way toward his neck. She repeated her actions there, nuzzling and kissing, savoring the little sounds he made, muffled though they were by the bed clothes, and leaned to whisper fully in his ear. 

“Just because you’re used to it, Fitz,” she chided, nipping at his lobe before soothing it with her tongue, “doesn’t mean you have to be. I’d be happy to rub your back. Good posture is important, and that’s nearly impossible if your muscles are achy all of the time.” 

Pleased when she laid herself out over him, Fitz wasn’t expecting the little nuzzles and kisses up over his shoulder, and shivered when she reached the sensitive skin on his neck. The stretch and pop on his spine that followed had him groaning and sinking deeper into the mattress, suddenly content - eager, really - to let Jemma do whatever she wanted with him. 

Even though he knew she wouldn’t, which sent a ping of disappointment through him. 

Still, he shifted enough to find Jemma’s hands where they were curled under his shoulders, twining their fingers together and trapping her there against him. The warmth of her alone was a comfort, but Jemma’s affection and care for him was still humbling some days, her whispered words in his ear confirming it even as his libido took the forefront again. “Alrigh’, lass, if y’ insis’,” he finally murmured when he thought he had his voice under control again. It came out rough, rasping a bit more than his voice usually did. “I will no’ complain abou’ backrubs.” 

Fitz’ teasingly begrudging acceptance of her affection made Jemma giggle, and she muffled the sound by kissing his neck once more before she slipped to the side and pressed against him. Jemma snuggled in close and allowed her fingers to roam his back, tracing the well-defined muscle carelessly as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. She liked the way Fitz was built, and felt an odd something bubble in her chest as she realized he was like the machines he created. Finesse instead of brute strength, although there was clearly that when he needed it, and a delicate precision that seemed to show through in everything he did. 

“I should hope you wouldn’t,” she teased back, “seeing as how they benefit you.” Jemma kissed the warm skin beneath her cheek once more before scooting back slightly so Fitz could face her fully if he wanted. She gave him a sleepy good morning smile before stifling a yawn and ducking back into her pillow, allowing her eyes to flutter shut. “It’s still early… how about a bit more sleep, and then we can find breakfast?”

“Mpmhmm. Where’re y’ goin’?” he grumbled when Jemma slid off him, even though her suggestion to stay in bed a while longer was more than welcome, “Come back here.” Fitz followed despite himself when she shifted back, not wanting to lose the contact with her. 

He reached to pull the rumpled blankets back up before he settled next to Jemma, fingers creeping out to curl over her arm where she’d bent it up in front of her. Fitz was just sleepy enough and relaxed from her massage to not really care if it seemed clingy or more affectionate than usual. Besides, it was their vacation, he meant to try and restore some sort of normalcy to their friendship while they were here, and this had become normal. Reassured, Fitz gave her arm a little tug and repeated himself, “Come back here.” 

Jemma went willingly, sliding into the space he made for her against his chest, her head ducking naturally against his neck. The position not only had the benefit of allowing her to block out the light, but also let her surround herself with Fitz: the feel of his still-bare chest against her palm, the warm, clean scent of him as it surrounded her, and the gentle beating of his heart thudding dully in her ears. 

It all causes a fizzy kind of contentment to bubble beneath her skin, and before she could think too much about his state of undress or the fact that she was lying in his bed, Jemma craned her neck up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. She could see a questioning kind of look in his sleepy gaze, and with a blush rising in her cheeks, explained, “Thank you, for letting me crawl in with you last night.” 

Fitz curled himself around her, lifting his chin to set atop Jemma’s head. “Why did y’ come in here?” he asked, a little curious now that he thought about it. “No’ tha’ I min’, bu’ y’ normally don’ crawl in with me unless somethin’ is wrong.” He skimmed his fingers down her spine to settle at the small of her back, automatically trying to soothe away whatever had bothered her, even though it was hours later. 

The feel of his fingers running along her spine was pleasant to say the least, even through the cotton of her t-shirt, and Jemma shifted a bit closer to Fitz in response. His scrutiny caused her to blush, and she tried to duck against his chest further as she gave a small shrug, unsure of what, exactly, he expected her to say. In truth, she thought she had covered it last night when she’d told him that she missed cuddling with him, but perhaps he didn’t think that extended to this. 

Not wanting to seem overly clingy yet again, Jemma decided to tease him a bit, looking up to give him a small smile before letting her eyes wander back to his chest so she could ponder the curve of his clavicle. “Those bloody skylights,” she muttered, “and the lack of actual sunset are a piss poor combination. It was too bright in my room to sleep.” Fitz didn’t look convinced, but Jemma left it at that, unwilling to cede any more ground than she already had. 

Oh, Fitz believed her about the light - Jemma had blackout curtains in her flat to let her sleep during the day when she came off shift, and she often hid her face under pillows and blankets when she stayed at his place, even though his flat stayed fairly dim anyway because of the exposures. That didn’t mean he believed for a second that was the only reason she’d come over. Still, he wouldn’t argue her presence there so he let it go in favor of snuggling further down into his pillows and relaxing back toward sleep. 

~*~

They plotted out the next few days over breakfast, after Fitz co-opted the kitchen and insisted on making pancakes. After a bit of cheerful bickering over what to do - Jemma wanted to see lots of things and Fitz wanted to relax - they compromised and narrowed down Jemma’s list. A further agreement to take their time with those things and not rush around earned Jemma a bright grin from Fitz. 

It was that grin, more than anything else, that allowed Jemma to let go of her need to cram events into every minute of the day. Perhaps it was the result of a packed schedule as a child, or a constantly running mind that begged to be entertained, but she had always had a problem with simply unwinding. Even watching a program or movie, Fitz had to take her phone from her and hide any nearby magazines before she could actually sit back and simply enjoy what they were watching. Jemma figured this was much the same, and so she forced herself to just focus on the two of them in the moment and let go of the fear that she was being frivolous with her time. 

And, she quickly found that being frivolous with Fitz was far more worthwhile than any sightseeing she might have been doing. They slowly wandered around the rocky shore near their cottage after cleaning up their breakfast plates, and when they grew tired came home and curled up on the sofa just to talk. Best of all for Jemma, the conversation came easily to her; she wasn’t worried about what she was saying or if she was giving too much of herself away. It all felt very much like the way they’d been before Fitz had called for them to take a step back, best friends edging on something more, and it made her stomach come pleasantly alive with butterflies. 

Fitz was tucked into one end of the couch, Jemma’s feet in his lap and his fingers idly rubbing her arch while they talked. It felt like the first time they’d relaxed - really relaxed - around each other in months. Since before William, even. While they were still best friends and spent the bulk of their time together, there’d been something a little strained underneath it all. Time alone and away seemed to be easing that feeling away, just as Fitz had hoped. 

And yet, at the same time, being alone in a remote cottage, their phones tucked away and their usual worries from home out of mind, felt very intimate. And surprising to himself, Fitz was okay with that. If there was anyone in the world that he was okay with seeing him completely unguarded, relaxed and vulnerable, it was Jemma Simmons. 

He curled his arm up on the back of the couch and leaned his head against it, watching her. She was lost in thought, eyes distant, but beautiful there, relaxed across the couch with her dark curls spilling over a pillow. “Y’ wen’ quiet on me. Wha’s goin’ on in tha’ mind o’ yours?” Fitz asked softly. 

“Nothing much, to be quite honest,” Jemma murmured, her toes flexing against his hand as she gave him a lazy smile. His blue eyes glinted a bit in the low light, and between that and the gentle caress of his voice, she felt her heart rate spike. The urge to sit up, lean over, and kiss him was nearly irresistible, but she stopped herself. They were just getting back to feeling good and relaxed around each other; she didn’t want to make it worse by plunging back into something that would only put them both off kilter once more. 

Just then, his finger skimmed across a particularly sensitive patch of skin on the bottom of her foot, causing her to giggle and jerk reflexively. It also broke her contemplative mood a bit, as she gave in to her natural inclination to pull away from him. “Fitz!” Jemma chided, words broken up by breathless little giggles. “That tickles!” 

The soft, quiet moment was lost at the sound of her giggles, and Fitz quickly grabbed after her foot, tugging it back into his lap and holding on firmly as he did it again. The soft stroke of his fingers up the center of her foot sent her off into more giggles and squirms, and Fitz grinned in response. Biting his lip, he crawled up over her and did the same on her sides and belly, taking the chance that if he feet were ticklish, they would be too. They’d never really been playful like this before to test that knowledge. 

She squirmed, giggling beneath Fitz as his fingers found their way to her sensitive stomach, her muscles contracting in laughter as she struggled to speak and tangled their legs together further. “Fitz!” she called his name again, whining a bit this time in the hope of gaining some sympathy. “Fitz, tha-”

Jemma’s protest was cut off as her ribs spasmed yet again, forcing out another wheezing laugh. She realized then that with Fitz’ competitive fire up, the only way to win this was to fight back. Taking advantage of a moment when he pulled back looking for better purchase on her, she snaked her own hands to his belly, fingers questing for the hem. Finding it, Jemma tugged his shirt out of the way and quickly found his ribs, seeking out any ticklish spots Fitz couldn’t easily defend. 

Fitz wasn’t nearly as ticklish as she was, but he had a few spots and Jemma managed to find them almost unerringly, like magic. After a minute or so he was giggling and laughing almost as much as she was, but Fitz couldn’t get Jemma’s hands out from his shirt without completely losing his balance and dropping his weight on her. Playing more than a little dirty, breath still coming fast and a grin on his face, entirely happy and thrilled that they could be so playful together, Fitz kissed her.


	20. Chapter 20

Unlike the times before, when Fitz had everything else in his life on his mind in addition to her, this time there was nothing but Jemma. He sank into the kiss almost immediately, and while he did eventually let himself down to lay over her, it wasn’t the frantic collapse it would have been before. Propped on one elbow, his free hand coming up to curl around Jemma’s jaw, Fitz slid his tongue in against hers at the first opportunity and savored his first taste of her in weeks. 

Time seemed to stop for Jemma, just for a moment as her body froze and her brain tried to process what was happening. Fitz’ lips were soft against hers, carefully exploratory and sharply contrasted with the way his fingers had danced over her ribs. It wasn’t that he’d been rough before, but the playfulness had certainly hadn’t allowed for the kind of intimacy Jemma felt passing between them now. 

She moaned softly into his mouth as their tongues met and tangled, her fingers stretching wide so she could press her hands in against his back, inventorying his muscles and keeping him close in equal measure. Jemma arched into him, seeking as much contact as she could find as the kiss deepened. She could feel herself go a bit light headed, but couldn’t bring herself to break from the kiss. She’d missed this, and selfishly, wanted to keep Fitz above her like this for as long as she could. 

Almost of their own volition, her hands slid down his spine to find the hem of his t-shirt once more, and once her fingers fisted themselves in the cotton, Jemma began to slowly work it up, trying to remove it without forcing them to stop.

The way Jemma instantly went soft beneath him, pulling him in closer, swept away whatever doubts Fitz had left. He wanted more from her, to see what they were and could be without his own fears getting in the way. Operating on instinct, not really thinking through the logistics of anything besides reveling in being able to kiss her this way, to be with Jemma without all those other things circling through the back of his mind, Fitz let her tug the shirt up. He broke away from her mouth only long enough to finish tugging it over his head and drop it on the floor beside the couch. 

Fitz pretty much stopped thinking about anything else but her past that point, sinking into Jemma’s embrace and drowning in her. 

Jemma’s grin was wolfish when Fitz settled over her once more, mouth returning to hers without hesitation. She rearranged her limbs as they kissed, carefully settling Fitz between her thighs as their tongues continued to slick against each other. It wasn’t frantic by any means, but rather a slow simmer that caused her body to heat as she sought his touch. Growing frustrated by his apparent insistence on being a gentleman, Jemma gently wrapped her fingers around Fitz’ wrist and guided his hand to rest on her waist, just below her shirt. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin, and wasn’t above silently asking him for it. 

Rather than take the invitation right away, Fitz levered himself up onto his knees, craned forward to keep his mouth fixed on Jemma’s while his fingers busied themselves with the buttons on her shirt, starting at the bottom and twitching them open. Brushing the soft cotton aside, Fitz’ kisses turned slow and a little distracted as his fingers explored her skin. She was so damned soft that Fitz felt like his hands should be too rough, but she was arching up into his touch and almost purring into his mouth. 

He lowered himself again, fitting back into the cradle of her thighs and groaning when the heat of her radiated through his jeans against his now very hard cock. Fitz nipped at Jemma’s lip immediately after, soothing the sting with his tongue, intent on trying to get her to arch up again and rub against him, giving friction exactly where he wanted it. 

Fitz’ touch was gentle as his fingers carefully mapped the skin covering her stomach and ribs. Jemma gasped as his calluses brushed over the ticklish spots he’d discovered a few minutes prior. Now, instead of pulling peals of laughter from her throat, he drew gasps and frustrated groans. His hands were large and warm, and unfortunately nowhere near where she wanted them, and Jemma arched her back, trying to encourage his hands to venture further up her body. 

The movement had the added benefit of pressing her center against his erection, and Jemma didn’t hesitate to do it again, losing herself in the basic pleasure of grinding against Fitz. 

They’ve never gotten quite this far before with Fitz always shying away, nervous and unsure of himself. This time around he was mostly convinced that he wouldn’t figure anything out if he didn’t try, and if Jemma was willing, then he would take the next step. 

Giving in to the way she was pushing up against him, Fitz skimmed his hands up Jemma’s body, wide palms landing over the thin lace and satin of her bra, hesitating for a moment before carefully exploring further. It wasn’t as if he’d ever had opportunity to play with breasts before, and the mixed feeling of curiosity and attraction made him pay close attention. 

At the same time, he drifted away from Jemma’s mouth and down to the soft, tender skin on her neck, searching out the spot over her pulse that never failed to send her shivering beneath him. 

His fingers were delicate, precise as they played over the lace-and-satin bra covering her breasts, easily finding and toying with her nipples through the flimsy material. Jemma gasped against Fitz’ temple, her hands abandoning their exploration of his chest to thread her fingers through his curls, holding his mouth against her throat as he suckled at her pulse. 

Her hips were still active, shifting against Fitz a bit more quickly in a desperate bid for more. More of his mouth, his hands, of him. Just then, an unbidden question flashed across her mind, wondering if he was this way with all of his lovers, attentive and exhilarating and just plain addictive. 

Suddenly, the fog of lust she’d been lost beneath cleared, and Jemma realized where, exactly, she was: half naked, beneath her best friend as his mouth and body made lewd suggestions that she very much wanted to make good on. But she couldn’t, not without knowing for sure. 

“Fitz.” 

His name was a broken moan on her lips as he nipped at her collarbone, sending a shiver of anticipation through Jemma. “Fitz, stop, just for a moment.” Using her grip on his curls, she gently tugged him from her neck so she could see him. His sapphire eyes were clouded with lust and plainly confused, wondering why she would make him stop what he’d been doing.

“I-” she hesitated, tempted to just let the entire thing go. What did it matter, really, when he was here with her now? And, while it might not be romantic love, Fitz certainly did love her, more so than William ever did… but no, she couldn’t let this go, and she shut her eyes tightly so she could get her question out, even as she kept her arms twined about him. “I just… are you still seeing other people? From when you go out, I mean.”

It took Fitz a moment to understand that she was trying to tug him away from her, for her request to stop to make any sense to his brain. One of Fitz’ failings was that he got hyper-focused sometimes and could be completely oblivious to anything going on around him. Which is exactly what had just happened, feeling free to love on Jemma as much as he wanted. 

He drew back from her, blinking a few times to try and look at her properly. Fitz knew, as soon as he saw the way she’d squeezed her eyes closed and refused to look at him, that he wasn’t going to like what was coming, and of course, he was right. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, he understood what she was getting at. He’d forgotten - or chosen to forget in the heat of the moment - that Jemma had recently been hurt that way. 

And he couldn’t do that to her. 

Fitz dropped his forehead to her chest, his nose brushing against Jemma’s sternum, just above her bra. “Sometimes. No’ as often as I was, bu’ yeah,” he admitted. Terrified of her reaction, dreading that Jemma might say this was all over after everything he’d done to try and draw her in close again, Fitz stayed there for only a moment or two longer before drawing completely away. 

Unwilling to go too far, afraid that Jemma would see his withdrawal as a rejection of sorts even though she’d stopped their headlong flight into further intimacy, Fitz dropped off the edge of the couch. Turning to sit with his back to it, knees drawn up tight in front of him, Fitz tipped his head back against the cushion, eyes closed and breathing heavily. 

He couldn’t look at her right at that moment. If he saw anything that felt like she was regretting what they’d done… Fitz might well break. And that wasn’t fair. Not when he understood Jemma’s hesitations. 

Fitz’ words spilled warmly across her chest, his breath making Jemma tremble with longing even as what he said stung. Still, it didn’t hurt half so much as the loss of him, both his gentle weight and his heat, and she had to stifle back a broken sob when he shifted off of her to settle next to the sofa. She risked opening her eyes then, and seeing that he was facing away from her, silently let her tears begin to fall. 

“It’s… it’s okay, Fitz, really,” she reassured him, voice thick with emotion, as her fingers fumbled to do up her open shirt. “We never spoke about that, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to expect that you’d…” Jemma found she couldn’t go on, and opted to gently place her hand on his shoulder, fingers curling around the muscle there before she sat up behind him. She tapped him gently, silently asking that he give her room. 

When he did, Jemma settled her legs on either side of his back and carefully leaned forward, her arms delicately wrapping around his shoulders as her chin tucked in against his neck. “It’s not your fault, Fitz. It’s mine.” She didn’t bother trying to hide her tears now; they were falling too thickly to disguise. “I just can’t be casual, not after what William did. But I really, really wish I could, for you.” She bit her tongue, suppressing the urge to tell him just how badly she wanted him. It could only cause them both more heartache now.

Fitz found Jemma’s wrists where they were laid across his chest and ran his hands up to curl around her biceps, tipping his head to rest against hers for a long moment. He was intensely relieved that she’d chosen to stay close, but at the same time her tears were tearing at him. “Shhh, shhh. Don’, baby girl. I should have known better. Is okay,” he whispered. 

Jemma didn’t seem to calm any though, prompting him to carefully turn in her hold and lean up on his knees to get his arms around her in return. “Is okay, Jem, I promise. Shhh. ‘M sorry. I am. Really. Jus’ tell me what y’ want me t’ do an’ I’ll do i’, if it’ll help.”

Fitz kept murmuring quietly to her, his hands smoothing up and down Jemma’s back as she trembled with the force of her tears, and eventually climbed back up onto the couch next to her. If he’d known she was going to break down, he’d never have moved in the first place. His earlier arousal had entirely faded at the force of her sadness, and all Fitz wanted to do was make it better. He hated knowing he’d upset her like this. 

“C’mere, lass,” he urged, patting his lap and opening his arms to her. 

Jemma’s reaction was automatic, clambering into his lap without hesitation, her arms wrapping around him as her head settled on his shoulder. She wanted nothing more than to be close to Fitz, even though the argument could be made that he was the source of her distress. She simply couldn’t imagine anyone better to soothe her, and she clung to him, her lifeline in a storm. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a few moments, using it as a catchall for what she was feeling. Jemma was sorry. Sorry she had dissolved into a blubbering mess, sorry she had pushed him, sorry she couldn’t be casual, sorry she’d ever taken up with William, sorry that she was so afraid of being honest about how she felt, and most of all sorry that she felt broken because of it. 

Jemma wanted Fitz, in every way he’d allow her to have him. It was as simple as that, and yet, she couldn’t come out and say it. They were both confused enough as it was, without her adding to it, and so Jemma kept silent but for her sobs. Eventually, the outpouring of emotion took its toll on her, and she allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she fell asleep against Fitz’ shoulder. 

Fitz swallowed hard, his own eyes stinging when she didn’t even hesitate before taking him up on the invitation. Jemma’s trust in him was so absolute, it was humbling. He didn’t deserve her any more now than he had last October when they’d met. If anything, he might deserve her less, with this mess he’d gotten them both into. 

When she settled into his arms and eventually drifted to sleep, Fitz sighed softly and wrapped his arms more snugly around her before carefully maneuvering them off the couch. He carried her upstairs and tucked Jemma into his bed before quietly shutting everything down for the night. Doors locked, lights off, phones on chargers, the kitchen straightened. 

And when that was all done, he gave in to the urge to curl up with her, spooning up against Jemma’s back and gently drawing her in against him to sleep for the night. 

Jemma stirred when Fitz finally slipped into bed with her, although her emotional exhaustion didn’t allow her to do much more than shift closer to him as he tucked the covers in about them. Feeling safe in his arms, Jemma quickly dropped back off into a restful, dreamless sleep. 

The feeling carried over to the next morning, and in that brief first moment of wakefulness, Jemma nearly forgot what had transpired the day before. That was, until she felt Fitz shift against her in his sleep, his morning erection pressing against her arse. Flushing with the memory of how he’d felt pressed against her the night before, Jemma shifted forward in his hold, putting a few scant centimeters between them. She was reluctant to move further than that, needing to stay close to him but unwilling to tease either of them with something she wasn’t able to give. 

Fitz had just barely stirred out of sleep when he felt Jemma pull away, and drew his arm back as the memory of her sobbing in his arms the night before flooded his mind, thinking she didn’t want to be so close. Except she then let out a soft, disappointed noise that woke him further, putting his senses on alert, and Fitz realized it wasn’t him she was pulling away from, but rather his body’s natural reaction to waking in the morning. 

Gently gripping Jemma’s shoulder, he tugged gently until she was on her back, and carefully kept his hips drawn back as he tucked his upper body in against Jemma’s side and nuzzled in against her shoulder. Sleepy and affectionate, still feeling tender after last night, Fitz just wanted to stay near her and reassure them both that things were going to be okay. Accidentally letting things get a bit out of hand wasn’t near enough to break them. Not after everything else they’d been through the last several months. 

Gathering her courage, Jemma opened her eyes to look at Fitz, and gave him the best smile she could manage. She was relieved that her crying jag hadn’t scared him off, and that he was still willing to be close to her like this. She would have hated to have lost all of their intimacy because she hadn’t been able to control herself. 

“Morning, Fitz.” The words were low and her voice hoarse with sleep, but they seemed to ring out in the quiet of the morning. Moving carefully and taking care to not rub against him deliberately, Jemma shifted closer to press a kiss to Fitz’ forehead. She wanted to let him know that she wouldn’t put up barriers just because of what had happened the night before. 

“Mmphm.” Fitz grumbled and fumbled after Jemma when she drew back, one arm winding over her body again to keep her from getting too far away. Whatever had happened last night had passed, and even though Fitz regretted getting so far ahead of himself, foolishly thinking he was the only one holding them back, he refused to let it cause any more trouble than it already had. 

If anything, it made him more determined that he needed to tell Jemma the truth about his own hesitations, the ones he’d shoved aside to focus on her last night. She deserved the whole truth, to understand why Fitz couldn’t give her everything she needed. 

His heart twisted, his pulse jumping with nerves, but Jemma was still more important right now. 

Eyes closed and still a bit groggy, Fitz nuzzled down her face until he found her mouth and pressed a soft kiss against it. “Morning, Jem.” 

The press of his lips was unexpected, and Jemma froze for a half a heartbeat, wondering what she should do. She wanted to kiss him, wanted him to kiss her, but after last night, she was on guard against losing herself again. What she absolutely couldn’t do, however, was refuse him, and so Jemma returned his kiss. The contact was brief, but satisfactory, and when it was over Jemma nestled into him, hiding her face against his neck. 

She debated apologizing again for the night before, but rejected the thought nearly immediately. They both seemed okay at the moment, and bringing it up first thing in the morning would likely only make things more awkward. Instead, she stretched her arm across his chest and asked, “So… are we still on for the fairy pools today?”

Fitz sighed softly when she curled into him, relieved that things weren’t awkward and she wasn’t pulling back from him. He’d known for ages that she was the only person in his life who could truly hurt him at this point, and since all this had started, he’d sort of been braced for her to use that ability against him. It hadn’t happened yet, but he couldn’t help the instinct. 

“O’ course we’re still goin’,” Fitz mumbled out. It was the only thing that Jemma had absolutely insisted on getting to see this week. “Gettin’ out and doin’ somethin’ will be good for the both o’ us.” There was a hike out to the pools, some interesting river crossings using stepping stones over the water and such. Fitz was a little apprehensive, knowing he could be clumsy, but he’d do his best because it was what Jemma wanted to do. 

Jemma nodded in response, knowing he would feel the movement against his shoulder and feeling too worn out for words. It was nice, just lying here like this, soaking in the quiet at the start of the day with her head pillowed on Fitz’ chest. Jemma found herself thinking that she wanted more mornings like this, wrapped up and just enjoying each other, even if the only thing it accomplished was teasing herself with something she’d never have. It was better to have Fitz in some capacity, she reasoned, than none at all. Maintaining their introspective silence, Jemma snugged her arms about him briefly in a quick hug, and leaned up to press another quick kiss to his lips, before slipping out of bed to start breakfast. 

Once they were fed and showered, they dressed for the cooler weather in heavy boots and jeans, jumpers and light jackets, and packed up supplies they might need. Jemma tucked away the sandwiches they made for their lunch after breakfast, along with the crisps Fitz had bought during their grocery excursion, some bottled water, fruit, and chocolate she’d bought for him on the sly. Double checking they had everything they’d need, they exited the small cottage, packed up the car, and headed toward the fairy pools. 

Fitz nearly made it all the way to the car before he remembered he’d need the directions to get to the park with the pools. Cell service on the island wasn’t always reliable, much less data connection. Darting back inside, he reconnected to the cottage’s wifi on his phone and saved the map and turn by turn directions. Coming back out, he grinned and tossed the keys to Jemma. “Your turn t’ drive, lass.” 

The drive out into the countryside (or rather, further into the countryside) was scenic and clearly only lightly traveled, which was encouraging. Quiet and thoughtful during the drive, Fitz was hoping the fairy pools wouldn’t be crowded with other people and be busy. If he was going to be hiking and climbing out over river rocks and such then he wanted to be able to relax a bit and enjoy his effort at the other end. 

Jemma caught the keys and tossed him a little pout. It wasn’t that she was a bad driver, per se, she just prefered it when someone else handled that particular task. She bit back her protest, however, once she remembered just how tight Fitz’ back had been a two days prior. She could handle the driving today if it meant saving him that pain, although she did regret not having a built in excuse to get her hands on him later. 

The drive was quiet, with only the soft murmuring of the radio in the background. Fitz seemed content to watch the countryside as it passed, and Jemma was unwilling to disrupt the calm of the moment. It afforded her the opportunity to gather her thoughts as well, and she found herself picking apart the problem in which they’d found themselves. 

Jemma wanted Fitz. She knew that much was true, at least physically, particularly after the way she’d responded to him last night and the pain she’d felt when she’d forced them to stop. And for her, if they were going to be physical, which went hand-in-hand with a relationship… but could they sustain that? Their friendship was rather easy; they had clicked from the start, and while they had had their rough patches, Jemma knew their friendship could be maintained. She couldn’t say the same of a romantic relationship. 

Fitz, as far as she knew, had never been monogamous, let alone with a woman. And while part of her was nervous that he might be going through a phase and merely felt the most comfortable experimenting with her, it was his lack of experience in a loving relationship that concerned Jemma the most. Fitz had never operated with the understanding that he could continually go to the same person to fulfil all of his needs, not pick and choose from a few sources and cobble them together. If she had more of a background in psychology, she’d be more comfortable speculating about the role his family had played in that particular development, but it was no matter; she had to deal with what they could work with in the here and now. 

The fact was, Jemma concluded as she pulled them into the remote field that acted as a carpark for the start of the trail, that of the two of them were opposite sides of the same coin. She had had plenty of experience in what a healthy relationship would look like, while Fitz had forgone that for one night stands. And while she trusted that Fitz would never intentionally hurt her, if she were to bend her rule and sleep with him without a commitment, she would only break her own heart, as well as lose her closest friendship. That terrified her more than anything. 

“We’re here,” she chirped, flashing him a bright smile as she cut the ignition and stepped out of the car, hoping that the upcoming hike and sightseeing would provide enough of a distraction, at least for the afternoon. 

The online guidebook they’d looked at that first morning had given an estimate on how long the hike would take each way. Fitz was figuring it would take them longer. Not only because they weren’t exactly accustomed to moving over rougher ground, but because they weren’t rushing to get anywhere, either. About halfway there, at least according to his own estimate, Fitz found himself lulled by the activity and the comfortable silence between them. 

“Y’ know is no’ abou’ y’, righ’? Why I can’… Why I dinna want t’ promise anythin’?” He said softly at one point, lagging a few steps behind her on the narrow trail. “I know I’ve messed things up, lass. No’ terribly, bu’, I have. I dinna think is fair t’ promise y’ somethin’ when I’m no’ sure I can live up t’ i’.” It might not be the best time to bring it up, but after last night he knew he needed to try to explain it to her, and this somehow felt less like walking through a field of landmines than it would to have this conversation in a more intimate setting. 

It still scared the shite out of him, either way. 

At least here he didn’t have to watch her face, or vice versa. And they could have space without it feeling like either of them were walking out.


	21. Chapter 21

Jemma kept her head down, eyes intent on the rocky trail as she carefully picked out her footing. She didn’t fancy turning an ankle out here, and it gave her something to do when she was tempted to turn her moon-eyed gaze in Fitz’ direction anyway. She’d foolishly thought that she’d been doing well when his voice broke her concentration and nearly sent her tumbling into the dirt. 

His words cut her, even with his gentle tone, and Jemma froze as she forced herself to remember that for all his good qualities, Fitz was as emotionally dense as they came. He’d gotten better since their first meeting ages ago, but he had a ways to go. Jemma held onto that as she righted herself and glanced to the side, catching sight of the lanky Scot out of the corner of her vision. That brief glimpse was about all she could muster without fearing she’d become a blubbering wreck again, and she forced her feet to continue carrying her down the path. 

“I know, Fitz.” Her voice was flat and nearly carried away by the wind as she faced forward once more. She had more to say but was unsure of how to say it without hurting him; more than anything, she didn’t want to hurt Fitz. He’d certainly been done enough harm by people who were supposed to love him, and Jemma didn’t want to be one more name on that list. “I know why it makes you nervous and it scares me, too… but I’d like to think I’m worth the effort of being scared over. Or, rather, I hope I am.” 

Her piece said, Jemma cleared her throat and continued to pick her way down the trail, her nerves jangling as she waited for Fitz’ response. 

He felt like she'd smacked him, between her words and her physical reaction to his comment. Fitz hadn't realized he was already hurting her, and that was unacceptable to him. He wasn't like his parents, knowingly hurting someone and carrying on like all was well. 

"Chris’, Jemma. Is tha’ wha’ y’ think? That I dinna value y’? Fuck. I... I never meant tha’. Ever, I swear. If anything, I care too bloody much. I love y’. I just... I dinna know if I'm in love with y’. And tha's important t’ me. You're important t’ me. An’ if tha’ means this needs t’ stop until I can figure i’ out... I'll do tha’. I mean i’. I can'... Y’ tell me. I dinna know how long i’ might take, or if i’ ever will and... Is up t’ you. I'll respec’ whatever y’ decide."

He was so shocked and dismayed by Jemma's quiet words that his own just poured out of him. Toward the end his voice broke, turning soft and quiet as he trailed along after her down the path. His stomach was a hard knot in his gut, tangled by the stress of being this honest with anyone, especially Jemma.

"If I'm scared o’ anythin’, is tha’ I'm goin’ t’ lose y’. So pick whichever one means tha's no’ goin’ t’ happen. I mean i’, Jem.” As much as he’d come to love being able to be close to her in all the ways he’d never been close to another human being, just having her presence in his life was more important than that. 

His words carried them down to the first of the fairy pools, and Jemma carefully picked her way over the rocks to make her way to the water’s edge. His words were slowly sinking in as she rolled them around her mind. Fitz hadn’t said anything she hadn’t already suspected; he wasn’t used to the idea of monogamy, and wasn’t sure of where he should even begin… although, Jemma supposed she should be pleased that he was even willing to entertain the idea. It would have been far easier for him to throw up his hands and quit on the entire concept. 

Fitz had joined her by the time she had finished her ruminations, and Jemma turned away from watching the first waterfall to give him a small, tight smile. Reaching for his hand, she wrapped her fingers around his palm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, for being honest.” Her words were quiet and nearly lost beneath the sound of the crashing water, but she knew Fitz had heard her when he returned her gentle pressure. “I… I think I need to take a walk. Can we meet back here in a little while?”

Jemma forced herself to meet his eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth in an attempt to control her nerves. She knew Fitz would never be selfish with her, and would give her the space she needed, but she still worried her request would hurt him. 

He stayed a few steps back for the rest of the walk, hesitating before he drew up next to her at the side of the small pool. The tight smile she offered him wasn’t reassuring, even when accompanied by Jemma’s fingers wrapping around his hand. Fitz flinched at her soft words, but forced himself to nod and step back, knowing it was only fair. If she’d thrown something like that at him, he’d need time to process as well. 

“Alrigh’,” he said gruffly, swallowing hard and coughing slightly to clear his throat of the sudden tightness there. “Dinna wander too far, okay? We canna jus’ call each other t’ figure ou’ where we are ou’ here.” That said, Fitz shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his eyes on the pool, forcing himself not to watch her walk away from him. 

His ever-present concern brought an involuntary smile to Jemma’s lips, even as it tore at her gut a bit, and she had to look down as she blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears. Not that hiding her face would do any good; Fitz would know anyway. Still, she tried, releasing his hand and taking a step away from him. 

“I promise, Fitz, I won’t go far. I’ll stay within sight, all right?” She hesitated a moment, waiting to see if he would turn to look at her, but it never came. With a soft sigh, Jemma forced herself to step away from him and picked her way around the rocky edge of the pool. When she reached the other side, nearly directly across from where Fitz was still standing on the bank, she found a flat rock and arranged herself on it, facing the direction of the waterfall. It allowed her to both see him and fulfill her promise to stay near enough to see. 

Jemma sat there for a long while, knees tucked up to her chest as she watched Fitz and contemplated exactly what she wanted them to be and where she needed to go from here. 

It might have been worse for her to stay within sight, although Fitz appreciated that she accepted the warning about wandering off without question. But watching her there across the water, she simply looked so alone that it hurt. Fitz had been alone, for years, and even though he knew she had family to support her if things went sour, right at that moment? It bothered him, a lot. 

Still, he couldn’t just stand there staring at her. It would be creepy, first of all, but he also had too much nervous energy now to just stand there. Fitz wandered toward the waterfall, peering up curiously. It wasn’t very tall, but he couldn’t really see what was above it. 

His body, hands especially, wanted to move, so he eyed the rocks lining this side and clambered up to the top. 

And then climbed back down when he bored of that. 

Fitz was picking up pebbles from the rocky shore, skipping the flat ones over the surface of the water, when he saw Jemma shift in his peripheral vision. Hesitating, his fingers clenching around the pebbles in his hand, Fitz watched Jemma pick her way back around the pool, heart in his throat as he waited for her, all that manic energy draining away, leaving him feeling tired and sad. 

Jemma couldn’t bear to watch as Fitz climbed the waterfall, and hid her face against her drawn up knees, every muscle tensed as she waited to hear the sound of him splashing into the pool below. It wasn’t a very tall waterfall, and Fitz wasn’t likely to harm himself, but the mere threat of it alone made her heart set to thumping in her chest. 

Most things about Fitz did that to her, she realized, setting off irrational reactions of her sympathetic nervous system at the least suspected times. Her thoughts were with him most of the time, too, be it an amusing joke she had heard or knowing he’d provide a sympathetic shoulder when she needed to vent. In reflection, Jemma realized that she was now at the point that living a life without him, in some capacity, wasn’t an option at all. 

Knowing what she had to do, Jemma stood and brushed herself off, giving her legs time to regain some feeling before venturing back out along the slippery bank. She kept her attention split between Fitz and the terrain as she moved, taking in the tense line of his shoulders and the way his fingers clenched around the pebbles he’d been skipping a few moments earlier. His eyes tracked her progress, only flitting away when she stood next to him once more. 

It was unbearably difficult, but she needed the point of contact, needed a way to get him to look at her, so she reached for his hand once more, curling her fingers around his fist. Taking a deep breath, and reminding herself not to rush through what she needed to say so it wouldn’t be an incomprehensible mess, Jemma explained herself. 

“You, Fitz, are absolutely my best friend in this entire world. That’s not even a question for me, and I like what we’re doing, and I don’t want to give that up either.” She felt tears begin to form and blinked them away quickly. She needed Fitz to be able to give her a clear answer, not an emotional one based on his reaction to her tears. “In a perfect world, my perfect world, I’d be able to be casual about this and we’d have been able to move further last night without it impacting our friendship. And as much as I’d like to continue what we’re doing indefinitely, I just…” she tightened her fingers around his and forced herself to maintain his gaze, despite the pain blooming deep in her chest. “I can’t, Fitz. I can’t be casual about you. But I can give you a bit more time to sort everything, if that’s what you want. Two months, though. After that, I think it’s best that we go back to what we were before. Otherwise… I just don’t think my heart can take it.”

His fingers closed around hers reflexively, the snug hold the only outward reflection of his own upset. Fitz hated knowing he’d upset her, but he’d given her the choice and Jemma had made her decision. He had to respect that, to hope that Jemma really understood what she was doing. That she’d tell him if it wasn’t working. The gloss of tears in her eyes tore at him, and Fitz gave in to his need to reassure her that things would be okay, one way or another, even if he wasn’t sure that was true. 

Reeling her in, Fitz hugged her close, ducking his head to rest alongside hers. “I know, lass,” he murmured. “I know i’ means more t’ y’. I wasna thinkin’ las’ night or tha’ wouldna have happened.” Fitz curled his hand around Jemma’s nape, fingertips in her hair, trying to soothe some of her stress away. “Two months i’ is,” he said thickly, relieved that he’d have time to puzzle through it. “Jus’... I’m goin’ t’ try t’ keep things… Normal, I guess. As much as I can, but… Y’ know I’m sort o’ oblivious sometimes, so I need y’ t’ tell me if is too much. I’m grateful you’re givin’ me time, bu’ I dinna want t’ make things any more difficul’, okay?”

Hesitating over his next words, unsure if she’d understand his need to ask, Fitz sighed softly. “Can y’ promise me tha’?” 

Something in Jemma threatened to break just a bit further when Fitz looked at her, his own eyes as turbulent as the water beneath the falls, but it quickly retreated when he pulled her into his embrace. She gave a relieved sob as he spoke, fingers working calming patterns over her neck, shoulders, and back. Her fear that he would tell her to just forget it now, that it wasn’t worth this kind of repeated scene, had been very real, and was still near the surface. She clutched at him, wanting to be sure he was actually there with her, and buried her face into his neck, inhaling deeply and finding comfort in his scent. 

“Of course. I promise I will, Fitz.” Her lips just brushed against the collar of his shirt as she spoke, and being cradled by him like this made her feel safe in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever find again. “You know,” she sniffled a bit, clearing her tears as best she could, “I don’t regret what we did last night at all. I wouldn’t have if we went further, either. Not with you.”

She pulled back in his hold, just enough to see his eyes and gave him a small smile as her tears slowly began to dry. “I’m sorry to do this to you twice in 12 hours. These waterworks really need to stop.” 

“Is okay,” Fitz quietly insisted, frowning at the sight of Jemma’s tear-stained face. “I dinna like tha’ I made y’ cry, but I’d rather know I messed up an’ try t’ fix i’.” He almost let her step back from him, but his arms snugged a little tighter around her instead, before he’d consciously chosen to do so. 

Fitz bit his lip before going back to her previous comment, his brows furrowing as they drew together. “Do y’ think I regret it? Because I don’. No’ at all.” He swallowed hard and leveled with her again, deliberately making himself more vulnerable than he liked being. But like Jemma had said - she was worth him being uncomfortable. The nerves showed, his eyes falling and not quite able to meet hers. “I know how bloody lucky I am t’ have y’, lass. An’ grateful y’ have the patience of a sain’. I never though’ I’d ever be thinkin’ of a woman this way, much less actin’ on i’.” 

He looked so much like a scared, lost boy that Jemma nearly missed the implication behind his words. She was well aware that Fitz didn’t think of her in strictly platonic terms, at least not in the most conventional sense of the word. If he did, he wouldn’t kiss her the way he did, and when they were kissing, pressed close and writhing against each other, Fitz had become aroused. Part of her had hoped it had been because it was her, and not just a response to physical stimulation, but her medical training and tempered that hope. But now, he seemed to be implying… well, she wasn’t comfortable speculating what he was implying. Jemma needed to hear him say it, wanted Fitz to make it absolutely clear. 

“Think of a woman in what way, Fitz?” Her voice was gentle, and she slowly wrapped her arms around him once more, drawing him closer as she waited with baited breath. 

Given how much Fitz had screwed around with men in the past couple years, talking about sex shouldn’t make him blush. And yet, his cheeks and ears went a vivid shade of pink, his fair skin warming almost instantly, because he was talking to Jemma, about Jemma. He sucked in a breath, his eyes lifting to meet hers for half a second before nervously flitting away again. “I’ve been havin’ dreams since back in March when we were no’ talkin’.” 

He’d even mentioned them before, that night after he’d stopped seeing Dr. Thornton and he blurted out how scared he was of losing her. And yet, Fitz felt like that detail had been lost amongst everything else he’d said, given he’d been rather less than coherent that night. Nothing else had been resolved from then either, really, but he was coming to terms with that. Oddly, he felt a bit better about it with Jemma’s deadline in place now. 

Turning his attention back to Jemma and her question, he shrugged one shoulder, trying to make light of it. “Dreams abou’ y’ an’ me. In bed together.” Fitz choked out a little laugh, making a joke at his own expense even as he forced his eyes to meet hers. “I dinna even know how accurate any of i’ is, or if I’ve jus’ got a really, really good imagination. Even if is no’ quite righ’... I end up washin’ my damn sheets every time, so wha’s tha’ tell y’? Is definitely no’ tha’ I dinna want y’, lass.”

The mental image of Fitz, waking in tangled sheets a sticky mess because he’d been dreaming of her sent a rush of heat through Jemma, and she had to suppress the hungry moan that wanted to escape her throat. She managed, barely, thanks to the sight of Fitz, his cheeks clearly red from more than the cold. Her ideas warred with each other in her head, each one clamoring for her full attention; the only thing that was absolutely clear to her in that moment was that she was fortunate to have stopped them when she had. 

Otherwise, she would have been entirely lost in him, physically and emotionally, and neither of them would have been willing to leave their little cottage for the remainder of their trip. 

Licking her lips, Jemma ducked her head closer to nuzzle his cheek, pressing a lingering kiss just at the corner of his mouth. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but we’ll figure it out.” Her words were a hushed promise against his five o’clock shadow, and despite her earlier anxiety, Jemma felt certain that she was right. “One way or another, we’ll get through this together.” 

Fitz would have had to be blind to miss the immediate expression of interest on her face, which both surprised and intrigued him. Before he could ask though, Jemma had closed the small distance between them, distracting Fitz with words and actions. Clutching her against him for a tight hug, Fitz laid his cheek against hers and just held on for a minute. “Tha’s all I wan’, really. Tha’ whatever happens, we make it through it okay. One way or another,” he admitted. 

It took some time to convince himself to break away from her, but when Fitz did, it was to curl his hand around hers and lead the way off to explore more of the pools. For most of the rest of the day he stuck close by Jemma. Not obnoxiously close - or at least he didn’t think so - but within arm’s reach, usually. He was still feeling just tender enough, vulnerable enough, that he needed the contact to remind him that things were okay for now. Despite everything, including his earlier admissions. 

Around mid-afternoon Fitz found himself perched much as Jemma had been earlier, on a flat rock next to a pool, except Jemma was with him, staring dreamily into the clear, still water. “Penny for your thoughts, lass.” 

Jemma started a bit, not expecting Fitz to speak, and had to shake herself a bit before she could properly process his question. Her mind had been running a rather wide gamut, ranging from what was going on at the hospital to what they would make for dinner once they got home to being amazed at the natural beauty of the place. A naughty part of Jemma wanted to revisit the topic of Fitz’ dreams. Ever since he had mentioned them, she wondered what, exactly, he had imagined them doing. She forced that impulse aside, however, reminding herself that fueling her ego at the expense of her best friend’s embarrassment simply wasn’t right. 

“Not much,” she answered honestly. “Just taking in the scenery. It’s beautiful here, Fitz. I’m glad you picked it. I honestly never would have thought to have come here myself.” 

His mouth quirked slightly, amused. “Dinna give me too much credit. The whole idea started because I wanted t’ take the Hogwarts train ride,” Fitz shrugged. “The res’ grew from there, since is sort o’ remote, excep’ for the ferry connection t’ this island. I wanted t’ get out o’ the city anyway, so it just worked out that way.” 

Fitz leaned back on his elbows, finding himself staring at her rather than the scenery around them. The pools were still abandoned, which Fitz guessed was probably because of the cool weather today - rain clouds were threatening distantly on the horizon. But, it meant it was quiet and peaceful and gave him the opportunity to study her. He hadn’t seen Jemma this untroubled in months. 

And besides that, he always liked when he had the chance to watch her, unobserved. The wind had teased loose strands of her hair that she kept brushing back behind her ears and colored her cheeks, hazel eyes turned to a whiskey color in the dimmer daylight. After a few minutes of quietly watching, Fitz shifted his weight, reaching forward to catch and hold one of her hands. 

The look in his eye was odd, and caused Jemma to tilt her head and furrow her brow in response. Not that she minded the way his hand folded around hers in the least. Fitz, she had long noticed, had rather perfect hands, not only for accomplishing his work but also for things like this. His palm was warm, his fingers just a touch rough, and Jemma was just a tad embarrassed to realize just how pleased she was that he was doing something as mundane as holding her hand. It somehow felt like a deeper level of intimacy for the two of them, one of those things that seemed to nudge them a little closer to something more than what they currently were. Knowing Fitz was willing to do things like this without her prompting encouraged Jemma’s hope that she wouldn’t end up breaking her heart in the long run. 

Feeling more at ease than she had all morning, Jemma gave him a bright smile and tugged so their shoulders bumped. When he was close enough, she stretched to give him a peck on the cheek and reassured him, “Whatever the motivation, I’m happy we’re here. Together.” She tucked herself beneath Fitz’ arm, huddled close out of the wind and observed the pools a bit more before she asked, “Do you want to eat lunch here, or would you rather go back to the car?”

He followed Jemma’s tug in her direction, straightening from his slouch and letting her draw his arm up around her shoulders. The quick buss against his cheek was unexpected, but not unwelcome. After all, as much as they were doing behind closed doors, it would be silly to be entirely hands off with her, even though he’d still hesitate around others. But they were alone here, which put Fitz more at ease and let him be more open than he’d be otherwise.

Catching the way she ducked in against his shoulder to hide from the brisk breeze, Fitz shook his head. “You’re goin’ t’ catch a chill if I keep y’ out here too much longer. Let’s head back. If we find somewhere out o’ the wind on the way, we’ll stop, bu’ otherwise, i’ can wait til we’re back a’ the car.” Pulling away to get to his feet and ignoring Jemma’s little whine of protest, Fitz held both hands out and helped her up from the rock. 

Their walk back to the carpark went at a much brisker pace, now that they were both more familiar with the terrain, and for that Jemma was grateful. As much as she’d never voice her protest, lest it look like she was whining, Fitz had been right: the chill had been getting to her. She was content to let him lead, following closely and taking care to set her feet where his had been so she wouldn’t slip while crossing the stream beds. 

Moving quickly, Jemma unlocked the car from a distance and slid behind the wheel, turning on the heat to warm her fingers and toes before turning her attention to her knapsack. She pulled out their sandwiches, handing Fitz his before digging back in for the crisps, fruit and water. “Well,” she said with a giggle as she settled sideways in her seat and unwrapped her own meal, “it’s not as spacious as being outside, but at least we’re warm while we eat.”

Fitz, as per usual, went after the crisps first. Peering through the windshield and looking up, he shrugged as he crunched through the first of them. “Is okay, lass. I think we have gotten caught in the rain if we’d stopped - look,” he said, motioning toward the cloud bank. 

He hadn’t paid much attention to it on his way out, since it had been toward their backs, but sitting here in the car, the deep gray clouds of a summer storm didn’t bode well for staying dry - or for making the river crossings any easier. “We could have gotten stuck out there if we hadn’t made the crossings in time.” 

Sure enough, by the time he’d polished off the crisps and started on his sandwich, the first sprinkles of rain hit the windshield, quickly developing into a steady stream of rain. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but it definitely wouldn’t have been good to be stuck outside in it with no shelter. The drive back to the cottage was going to be interesting, at any rate. 

Realizing Jemma had ended up in the driver’s seat again, Fitz spoke up again, “We’ll have t’ switch seats before we leave. I’d feel more comfortable drivin’ in this, I think.” 

Jemma nibbled on her lower lip as she peered out the fogged up windscreen. The feminist in her wanted to protest that she damn well could drive in this weather if she needed to, but her practical side prevailed. Fitz was undoubtedly the stronger driver, and besides, she reasoned, it was his name on the rental agreement. She’d feel terribly guilty if she insisted on driving and wrecked the car. 

Jemma gave a defeated little sigh as she crumpled up the wrapper for her sandwich and tucked it into a side pocket of her bag. It didn’t look like the rain would let up anytime soon; given that there was no way she was venturing into that mess, and if they waited any longer there was a real possibility of the roads being washed out, they’d have to find a way to do this without leaving the vehicle. 

“All right,” she said as she tossed her bag into the back seat, giving her more room to move, “slide over. I think this’ll be easiest if I go over while you slip under.”

Fitz eyed her and the narrow space. Neither of them were big, but he hadn’t bothered with a larger car because it was just the two of them, and it was a manual so they had to be careful of the shifter. If one of them got stuck it would be awkward at best. “More room t’ maneuver on this side. C’mon,” he said, waving her toward him. “Scoot over pas’ me.” 

Moving gingerly, Jemma shifted her hips so she was out from beneath the steering wheel, and scooted toward the center console. It took her a moment to decide how best to accomplish the switch, but she eventually stretched her right leg out, reaching for Fitz’ far side with her toes as she levered up onto her left knee. It worked relatively well, and a proud smile split her mouth as she brought her other knee up… only to catch it on the arm rest. 

She’d been moving too quickly, and as a result, lost her precarious balance. Her momentum carried her to the side, and Jemma toppled into the passenger door, her shoulder striking the glass with a dull thud. “Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered as she reached to rub her shoulder. She had all the grace of a newborn gazelle, but at least she had ended up on the right side of the car without doing any major damage. “I didn’t clip you, Fitz, did I?”

“Jemma!” Fitz wasn’t expecting her to go pitching forward that way and didn’t have a chance of catching her before she hit the door. She also nearly knocked the breath out of him, landing in his lap that way. Winding his arms around her was instinctive, as was the way his blue eyes went sharp and sandy brows drew together, seeing how she grabbed for her shoulder. 

“Nah, I’m fine, jus’ surprised, really,” he replied to her concern, turning it back on her, “Are y’ okay? Tha’ sounded like i’ hurt.” Nevermind that she’d landed squarely in his lap. If it wasn’t for the distraction of making sure she wasn’t injured, Fitz knew exactly where his mind would be drifting right about now. Especially given their earlier conversation and his thoughts on the hike back to the car. 

“I’m fine, really.” 

The words rolled off her tongue instinctively, the familiar words of an older sister who knew the younger ones needed more tending than she did. Fitz didn’t fall for it as easily as her mother did, however, and Jemma rolled her eyes before responding to his silent insistence. 

“I mean it, I’m okay,” she replied as she dropped her hand from her shoulder to rest on his forearm. “I’ll likely bruise and my ego wishes I could forget how clumsy I am, but other than that, I’m really fine.” He still didn’t seem convinced, so Jemma ducked her head to look him in the eye and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re sweet to worry. I promise, you can dote on me later if you really want, but you shouldn’t need to.”

Fitz chuckled at the humor behind her comment. “You’re no’ clumsy, lass, or y’ would be a disaster t’ have in A&E. Dinna think I havena noticed you’re still there when mos’ o’ the other residents have been shifted out t’ other departments.” Which was the truth. Now, whether that was because Jemma was just that good where she was, or because people thought she’d gotten special treatment when she was assigned to London Bridge Hospital was debatable. But even if it was to counteract rumors of nepotism, they wouldn’t leave her in A&E if she wasn’t reliable and steady. 

He wrinkled his nose in the way she sometimes did at the mention of him being sweet. Jemma might be the only person who ever saw that side of him and it certainly didn’t extend to concern about anyone else. “If I know y’ as well as I think I do, y’ have a firs’ aid kit somewhere in your bags. Jus’ make sure y’ take care of i’, okay?” 

Giving her a little squeeze and a soft peck on the end of her nose, Fitz glanced at the empty driver’s seat and the rain streaming over the windows. “Now le’ me see if I can ge’ over there withou’ anythin’ else happenin’.” 

Shifting all of her weight onto her right knee, Jemma pressed against the door and waited for Fitz to slip out from beneath her. He looked a bit ungainly, swearing as he tried to fit his lanky limbs beneath the steering column, but he eventually made it without knocking himself silly like Jemma had. She felt warmth bloom in her chest, and easily recognized it as affection. Fitz seemed to be the only one who could pull that reaction from her lately, and part of her worried that if she was wrong, if this blew up in their faces, she wouldn’t feel it as easily ever again. 

Jemma shook off the feeling in favor of focusing on the here and now; they could worry about would might happen when it did. That plan went against nearly every aspect of her nature, but seeing it as her only recourse, she forced herself snake her hand beneath his arm to lightly rest her hand on his thigh, high enough to be intimate but not so much to be overly suggestive. Jemma flashed Fitz a sleepy smile when he glanced over at her, and since she was full, finally feeling her toes again, and content to just be with him, Jemma settled back in her seat for the long ride back to the cottage.


	22. Chapter 22

The rest of their time at the cottage passed by easily, and that last morning Fitz sighed heavily into his tea. He was excited for the trip home, mainly the portion between Mallaig and Fort William on the train they’d used as the Hogwarts Express in the Harry Potter movies, but he wished things could be like this with him and Jemma all the time. Not necessarily living together - although he honestly wouldn’t mind her as a flatmate - but just… They’d had longer and deeper conversations here. The quiet, when it happened, was less silence and more that neither felt the need to speak just then. 

Packing things up and preparing to leave left him feeling a little… lonely, in a way. 

And yet he did it, quietly tucking his things back into his bag, checking around the house to make sure they hadn’t missed anything important. 

Packing, thankfully, was a rather mechanical task, and Jemma was able to collect everything and store it away without devoting much brain power to the task. Instead her mind wandered over the events of the past few days. 

While it was far from being settled, she felt more secure about where she stood with Fitz; there was none of the worry and stress over what they were or how he felt. She knew now, and while her stomach still knotted at the thought that he might cast her aside, she realized that she was in control. Jemma had set the deadline, and now it was up to Fitz to live up to it, if he wanted. And if he didn’t… well, she would handle that in September, when the deadline came due. 

She dropped her packed bag at the door, and wandered into the kitchen, where she found Fitz leafing through the paperwork. He’d grown quieter as the end of their vacation drew near, and Jemma had noticed the quality of their conversations had changed. It all felt… not off, but as though they were being more honest with each other than they had before. Which was impressive, given how much she had shared with Fitz before this little escape from reality. Part of her feared that they would revert once they were away from the remote, yet ruggedly beautiful, Isle of Skye, and she resolved to keep that from happening; hopefully, if she managed to hold onto the feeling, Fitz would, too. 

“We almost ready?” she quietly asked, stepping in to read over his shoulder. “We wouldn’t want to miss the train. I doubt there are flying cars to bail us out if we’re late.”

“Ferry firs’,” Fitz corrected, appreciating that while Jemma had come up behind him, she hadn’t actually touched him this time. “We’ve got t’ get back t’ the mainland an’ drop the car off in Mallaig before catchin’ the train. Are y’ all packed up now?” He craned his head to look past her, pleased to see her bag alongside his at the door. 

If he’d known what Jemma was thinking about their new dynamic and continuing it when they got home, Fitz might have blushed, but really, he was thinking all the same things. Especially given he had his own fears about Jemma deciding it wasn’t worth waiting on him to make up his mind when he could decide against continuing things with her. Fitz turned, giving her shoulder a playful bump. “We’ve gotten spoiled out here. Time t’ head back t’ the real world.” 

“I wouldn’t mind avoiding it longer, to be honest,” Jemma automatically replied, not bothering to guard her words. It was bad enough that she would have to do that as soon as they were home in London; there was no need to give in to the impulse now. 

With a small sigh, Jemma took a half step away from Fitz to pick up their lone remaining apple. She rolled the red fruit between her hands, thumbs swiping over the few imperfections and bruises on the fruit without much forethought as she still wrestled with the need to return to the working world and her desire to hide away with Fitz. 

“It was a good vacation, but you know what they say.” She stopped fiddling with the fruit and brought it to her lips to take a rather large bite out of it. “All good things eventually come to an end.”

Something twisted in Fitz’ chest at the realization she was just as sad to be going home as he was. The good moments of the trip had far outweighed the bad, but some part of him hadn’t really thought - or believed - it was important to her as it had been to him. Jemma’s tone and the expression on her face were unmistakable though, especially along with the way she was fidgeting with the apple and not meeting his eyes. 

Her words hit him in the gut though, and Fitz frowned, abandoning the attempt to be upbeat. Why did he have the feeling she meant more than just their vacation? 

Fitz couldn’t think of anything to say that might make things any better. 

He sighed quietly and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Yeah, tha’s true, I guess,” Fitz mumbled, moving toward their bags and the door to keep her from seeing his face. 

His change in demeanor was unmistakable, and Jemma’s eyebrows knit together as she replayed her words in her head. He couldn’t possibly think… could he? As she thought about it, Jemma could see how her words might be misconstrued as a reflection on the state of their relationship. And while she did have her concerns and worries and anxieties regarding the two of them, she was resolved to not let it get between them. Fitz was her best friend, and simply having a massive, unreciprocated crush on him was not enough to give up what that meant. 

Jemma glanced down at the half-eaten apple, and threw it out as her stomach revolted at the thought of taking in more food. She approached Fitz cautiously, knowing how nervous it made him to be startled from behind, and called to him before reaching out and placing her hand on his sleeve. 

“Fitz? I didn’t mean us.” She tugged lightly, turning him to face her, and looked up into his eyes. They were unmistakably sad, and she felt a pang of regret at having caused it, even unintentionally. Everything had been going so well, too. Knowing words wouldn’t be enough, Jemma stepped into Fitz, wrapping her arms about his waist and laying her head against his chest. She took a minute there, just soaking him in, appreciating the solid feeling of him in her arms and his warmth before they had to leave. 

“You’re my best friend, no matter what.” She emphasized her point by pulling back to smile up at him, and when she saw that he didn’t quite seem convinced, went up onto the balls of her feet to give him two quick kisses, one brief one on his lips and another on his cheek, before stepping away. Jemma didn’t give up her contact with him entirely, however, tangling her hand with his as they each picked up a bag and began the process of packing the car. 

The drive to the ferry passed in companionable, yet contemplative, silence as Fitz drove. Jemma, still feeling the sting of guilt for making Fitz worry that she had meant their relationship, whatever it was, would eventually have to come to an end, did what she could to keep up a point of contact with him, and her hand rested easily on his thigh, much as it had coming home from the fairy pools. 

They made it to the ferry dock just in time to load the car, and just made it up to the passengers’ area as the ferry pulled away from the shore. The breeze kicked up as they made their way onto the water, causing Jemma to realize her mistake. In the rush of getting everything secured and getting upstairs to catch a last glimpse of the Isle of Skye before returning home, she’d forgotten an essential item in the car: her jacket. 

She glanced around as she began to shiver, looking for a place out of the wind where she could wait out the ferry ride, and crossed her arms over her chest in a meager attempt to keep warm. 

Fitz should have known better than to think she wouldn’t notice his sudden moodiness, and wasn’t even surprised that Jemma trailed along after him, concerned. The hug did, for some reason. It wasn’t as though Jemma hadn’t grown used to touching him when she wanted, but something about this felt different. He gave her a tight smile when she kissed him and caught hold of his hand, before his gaze tracked back to the little cottage behind her. “I know, lass. Dinna min’ me. I’ hasna even been a week, bu’ i’ feels strange t’ be goin’ home. Tha’s all.” 

He made the drive out to the ferry dock and onto the boat in silence, trailing along after Jemma when she hurried him up to the deck and watching in silence as the Isle of Skye drew away behind them. 

It was a short ride, only a half hour, and the views of the little villages that lined the shore were pretty, but the heavy feeling in Fitz’ chest lingered. It wasn’t until he caught Jemma looking around and actually focused on her that he realized she’d left her jacket in the car. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but the brisk wind from the ferry’s speed and being on the water was chilly. “We can go inside if y’ wan’,” he offered, knowing she’d likely say no out of stubbornness. 

Of course she shook her head, and Fitz sighed, shaking his head, too. “Silly lass. C’mere then,” he said, reaching to urge her into the narrow gap between himself and the solid rails. At the very least she’d be mostly out of the wind except for her face and shoulders. 

Jemma allowed him to tow her over, and was grateful for the immediate cut in the chill. She had never realized it, but Fitz was bigger than she was, even if it wasn’t by much. The extra few inches in his height and broader shoulders made a difference, though, and she sighed in contentment as she settled in to watch the villages pass them. 

Her contentment didn’t last long, however, as she slowly came to realize that while he was protecting her back, her sides were still awfully exposed. “Here, back up for a second,” she murmured, turning in Fitz’ hold so she could unzip his jacket. Putting her back to him once more, Jemma reached to bring the now open flaps around her, followed by his arms, and burrowed in, tipping her head back to rest against his shoulder. “That’s much better.”

Amused, Fitz watched her fiddle with his jacket, shaking his head at the way she made free with his clothing and body. It still stunned him sometimes that their friendship had morphed into what it had. He’d never expected to have a friend like her or be so genuinely comfortable in someone else’s presence. 

She pressed back against him and Fitz reflexively closed his arms around her, holding the sides of his jacket in place. Fitz chuckled at the little noise she made when the warmth registered, along with her comment. “You’re gettin’ spoiled, takin’ advantage o’ me runnin’ warm. Wha’ are y’ goin’ t’ do if I tell y’ no one day?” he teased, speaking into her ear so the wind didn’t steal the quiet words away. Not that he likely would, but he had to tease her about it now and then. 

This time, the shiver that ran through Jemma had nothing to do with the wind, but rather the warmth of Fitz’ breath ghosting past her ear, even as her heart sank. Even teasing, his words were a sharp reminder that he might turn her away one day, despite holding her tight now. This really was fleeting, unless they both made a concentrated effort, and while Jemma was feeling more confident, the mere reminder that it could all easily go the other way made her stiffen her spine. 

“Well,” she whispered back, trying to keep her tone teasing and pressing further into his hold in an attempt to run away from her darker thoughts, “I suppose I would pout and plead, and if that didn’t work, I might just have to freeze. And of course come back and haunt you so you’d feel terribly guilty.”

“Chris’,” Fitz groaned, ducking his head against her shoulder to laugh quietly. “You’re makin’ me feel guilty for somethin’ I havena even done. How’s tha’ fair?” He felt Jemma press in closer to him and snugged his arms tighter around her, especially when her back stayed stiff and tense against him. Rubbing his hands up and down her arms, he tried to help keep her warm while he puzzled through what might have upset her. 

When she shivered again, Fitz tugged his phone from his pocket to check the time - just under ten minutes left - and looked around before giving her arm a little tug and backing away. “C’mon. Let’s go back down t’ the car. By the time we ge’ downstairs and crank the hea’ up, we should be dockin’,” he explained, nudging her toward the stairs. 

As much as she wanted to protest that she could handle a few more minutes in the wind, Jemma gave in and followed Fitz down the stairs and toward the car. They had been one of the last cars to be loaded, and at least this way would be off the ferry ahead of the crowd. And, once Fitz turned the ignition and got the heat running, she had to admit that being warm had its definite advantages. Sad as it may have been, she was nearly surprised that she could feel her fingers as she gave them an experimental wiggle.

Sure enough, Fitz was right about the timing, too, and a few short minutes after they settled into their seats, Jemma could feel the ferry bump against the dock, jarring them slightly despite being insulated in the car. With a sigh, she cut her eyes over to Fitz and gave him a wry smile, sad that they really were inching closer to reality. Worried that speaking would only get her in trouble, Jemma settled for reaching out to wrap her fingers around his, giving them a gentle squeeze, before Fitz maneuvered them off the ferry and toward the rental lot. 

Fitz made quick work of dropping the car off and returning the keys. Mallaig was a tiny little place, and thankfully the train station was only a bit down the street, because even in July, the wind in the highlands was still a bit chilly, even on land. 

They were early for the train, but it was already there waiting since this was the end of the line, and Fitz spent a chunk of time with his phone out, taking pictures of the gleaming steam engine and carriages. It was no wonder, he thought, they’d chosen this train to stand in as the Hogwarts Express. The piece of him that was utterly fascinated by machinery and technology clicked in as he studied the engine, completely oblivious to the way he was virtually ignoring Jemma except when he wanted to point something out. 

Eventually though, the conductor waved them onto the train, telling them to find their compartment and settle in for the departure. Fitz gave Jemma a sheepish grin and climbed aboard, easily finding the right space and tucking their bags away before dropping onto one of the well-cushioned bench seats. 

Had it been anyone else, Jemma would have been seriously annoyed with the way she was ignored in favor of the steam locomotive. But given that it was Fitz, and she so rarely saw him this enthused about anything, she readily forgave the slight. It was worth it to see the way his eyes lit up as he explained the different components that made up the engine, and as he rattled off seemingly random facts about the history of the National Rail. Instead of rolling her eyes, Jemma merely smiled and trailed after him, happy to nod and answer when appropriate. 

She even grinned when the conductor chastised them, following close on Fitz’ heels as he led them to their car, and shaking her head slightly at the sheepish look on his face. It really was adorable, more than she could ever admit lest Fitz revert back to his usually grumpy self. Jemma watched as he loaded their bags and followed him into the compartment, flopping onto the bench next to him. 

Usually, Jemma would ask for the window seat so she could watch the countryside as it passed, but the barely-contained exuberance that had become Leo Fitz forced her to hold her tongue. Instead, she merely pressed as close to him as she dared, craning her neck in the hopes of catching a glimpse out the window. 

It took Fitz a bit to get over his giddy goofiness about the steam engine and the workings behind it, distracted by the way Jemma kept shifting around behind him as he peered out at the passing landscape. Of course, then he realized that he was being rude and hogging the view and made a face. “Y’ could have asked me t’ move, y’ know,” he said, half teasing and half serious. 

Shifting along the seat, he made a space for Jemma between himself and the window, leaning shamelessly up against her back when Jemma took the invitation and sat there to peer out from over her shoulder. Fitz was still so immensely pleased with the train that he soon forgot even that faint irritation, especially as the train sped over the Glenfinnan viaduct - the long stone bridge highlighted in the Harry Potter movies. 

In fact, his mood didn’t fade completely until after they’d switched trains in Fort William and were approaching Glasgow on one of the standard National Rail trains. Fitz had slouched down into his seat, a book in hand, but he’d stopped turning pages a while back. He hadn’t been back to Glasgow since his first semester at Uni, and they’d have an hour’s layover there. Not that he expected to run into anyone he knew during the transfer between the Queen’s Street and Central stations or while waiting for the next train to London, but it made him nervous. 

The change was gradual, but certainly obvious to Jemma, who was used to Fitz had had a fairly good read on what his baseline was. She watched him over the top of her medical journal, flipping the pages at a steady rate so he wouldn’t notice her watching him, although he was so lost in his own thoughts, Jemma doubted a troupe of dancing monkeys would be able to draw his full attention. Which for Fitz was really saying something. She kept quiet, however, uncertain of whether or not her drawing attention to his skittish behavior would send him further into himself. 

Jemma settled for following him closely, but took care to not touch him, merely trailing after him as he handed over her luggage and lead them out of Queen’s Street station and over to Central. Once they found seats near enough their platform, they settled down. Jemma pretended to read once more, flipping through a different, much older journal that she had worked through ages ago, and carefully keeping an eye on Fitz. He was fidgety but fighting it, his nose burying in his book while his fingers danced along the edges of pages without actually turning them. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had Fitz so anxious, and Jemma’s heart broke for him even as she felt a nearly overwhelming urge to hunt down his parents. It hurt her to know that her friend had been abused so badly that merely being in his hometown caused him to shut down and lose the bright, funny, engaging man he was when they were alone in London. It caused her blood to boil so badly that Jemma found she couldn’t sit there any longer. With a soft snap, she shut the glossy cover of the journal and slipped it into her bag even as she tugged out her wallet. 

“Fitz,” she softly called, hoping to get his attention without startling him too badly, “I’m going to see if I can find anything that resembles edible food before we have to board the train. What are you in the mood for?”

He’d done his best to calm his jittery nerves, but Fitz couldn’t help looking around uneasily as they transferred stations. Worse, he was sure Jemma had noticed his withdrawal by now and she was bound to ask him about it. 

Of course, the seats they eventually found were in one of the busier areas of the concourse and all Fitz could do was slouch down into his seat and bury his nose in a book again. Hoping and praying that he wouldn’t be seen or recognized by anyone he didn’t care to remember from his past. Which was pretty much everyone. There were reasons he’d left Glasgow and never looked back. His life in London wasn’t perfect by any means - if he lost his grant, he didn’t know how he’d support himself - but just having Jemma in it was enough to make it so much better than anything he’d had before… 

She startled him out of his thoughts with her quiet call, and Fitz cut his eyes over to peer at her, finally catching on that she was hungry. He blanched when he realized she was going to leave him alone here and nearly insisted on going with her. Very, very nearly. But that would mean moving their bags and everything too, and Jemma looked a bit tired. He pressed his lips together and gave her a wan smile, “I dinna have any real preference righ’ now. Y’ know wha’ I’ll eat and wha’ I won’. Get me somethin’ from wherever y’ decide t’ go. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

At least he had a wall at his back and it’d be hard for anyone to sneak up on him. Jemma seemed to hesitate, expression worried, and he shooed her off. “Go on, Jem. Sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’re back.” Fitz sighed as she hurried away, knowing she’d seen his discomfort and was fussing over it. He’d be okay, as soon as they got out of this city. 

Now if only he could convince his shaking hands of that. 

Jemma took his words to heart and had to keep herself from running to find them both food. The doctor in her was demanding that she buy something healthy, with plenty of greens and a balanced amount of proteins, fats, and carbs, but she knew Fitz wouldn’t go for it. No, Fitz needed comfort food, or as close to it as she could get here. 

Since she didn’t have a kitchen of her own on hand, Jemma quickly found a fast food counter and ordered them each a meal of fish and chips. Her only concession to health were the two bottles of water she purchased, and after tucking those beneath her arms and pulling nearly a dozen napkins from the dispenser, she hurried back to where she left Fitz. 

She kept her eyes on him as she approached, observing the way he fidgeted in his seat, his fingers and legs unable to stay still. That wouldn’t have been odd in and of itself, Fitz was nearly always fidgeting, but he wasn’t looking around as he did it. Usually he was as eager as anything to watch the world pass by around him, his natural curiosity getting the better of him more often than not. Jemma wanted to hug him, but he seemed to be in such a bad state that she honestly worried that he would only yell at her in response. 

“I found us fish and chips,” Jemma said by way of announcing her presence, and instead of sitting in the seat she had previously occupied, she took the seat next to him. It put her near enough to offer him some physical comfort if he sought it out, but also meant she didn’t need to touch him. She handed him one of the bags and most of the napkins, along with a bottle of water. “I’m not sure how good they could be, but it’s warm and better than nothing, I suppose.” 

His eyes jerked over to her in surprise. Left to her own devices, Jemma tended toward healthier options, and even in the limited options of a train station, she should have been able to find something that suited her. That she’d chosen fish and chips instead… Fitz’ expression twisted a bit as he reached to take his meal from her. “Y’ didna have t’ do tha’, lass. I’d have been fine with whatever…” 

There were packets of salt and vinegar in the bag, too, and Fitz liberally distributed both over his meal, which was surprisingly good, considering the source. He was quiet for a long while as he picked at the food, actually eating a fair amount of it even as he watched the big clock in the center of the terminal and the departures board. 

It felt like forever before their train was posted with a track number, though they hadn’t even been there a full hour. 

Jemma did her best to watch Fitz without actually watching him, applying what was left of the salt and vinegar to her own food and picking at it. Keeping her eyes flitting between the food in her lap and the board announcing departures, Jemma found that time was dragging; she had never wanted to get on a train so badly, even if it meant being cooped up in a compartment for the better part of the night. She just wanted to get Fitz back home to London, and away from whatever was clearly still plaguing him here. 

Unsure of how he would take it but unable to keep her distance any longer, Jemma allowed her knee to fall to the side so it would just brush against Fitz’. It was a little point of contact, just so he’d know he wasn’t entirely alone, and when he didn’t withdraw from it, Jemma allowed her body to cant a bit to the side as well. They finished their meal that way, silently leaning against each other, and when their wrappers were empty, Jemma quickly collected them and shoved them into the brown paper bag the food had come in. Ignoring her urge to throw it in the nearest bin, Jemma tucked the bag down by her feet and leaned into Fitz a little more. She’d had to leave once to go get the food; she wasn’t going to move again until it was actually time to board their train. 

He relaxed a little at Jemma’s quiet attention, if only for the reminder that she’d stuck with him through a lot this last year and even if he did run into someone, Jemma would still be there. Still silent, still nervous, but the subtle brush of her against his side let Fitz feel that much less jumpy. 

Eventually the departures board updated with their train number, and Fitz reluctantly got up, gathering his bag and backpack along with their trash. He did a quick glance around the seat to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything, and waited for Jemma to collect her own things as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. Managing a wan smile when she looked up at him, he held a hand out to help Jemma up - and didn’t let go of it while they pushed through the crowded terminal and went downstairs to the platform. 

It wasn’t until they were on the train and it became awkward to keep holding on in the narrow aisles that Fitz finally released Jemma’s hand. Fitz hadn’t thought his anxieties would rush back like this, not on a mere layover in the city, but even he recognized he hadn’t made it any easier on himself, avoiding the city and any thoughts of it for so long. It wasn’t the place that was the problem after all, but a small percentage of the people in it. 

Jemma could feel a bit more of the tension he’d been carrying drain out of Fitz as they wound their way down the train aisles, and that alone was what made her feel comfortable releasing his hand. Even trying to manage her two bags, she would have gladly maintained her grip on his hand if he’d wanted, if only to reassure him of her constant support. At this point, she knew the reassurance wasn’t merely for Fitz, but for both of them. Jemma needed him as much as he seemed to need her; there was no way in hell she’d give that up. 

Fitz moved them as quickly as he could through the coach seating, pausing only to allow other passengers to get situated before pushing on, and they soon found themselves in the appropriate sleeper car. Jemma watched as he fiddled with the door, and getting it open, held it open for her before slipping in himself to shut it behind him. Feeling suddenly sleepy, Jemma glanced around for the luggage rack, and stowed her things before turning her attention to Fitz. 

After putting his bags up as well, Fitz held up a finger, tugging his phone from his back pocket. While Fitz felt better now that he was on the train and behind a closed door, his reaction to being in Glasgow had reinforced something he’d needed to do for some time. Jemma had subtly taken him to task for it while they’d been at the cottage, too. Avoiding her curious stare for a moment, Fitz scrolled through his contacts and punched the call button. 

When the voicemail clicked on, he quickly left a message before he chickened out. “Jane. Hi, is Leo Fitz. I know is been a while, but I’d like t’ come back in an’ see Doctor Thornton if she’s got an openin’ this week. I’m jus’ comin’ back from a trip, bu’ I’ve got a break on my project, so I can come in pretty much any time. Give me a call after 10am tomorrow,” he rattled off to the machine at the other end, and quickly signed off, dropping onto the lower bunk of the compartment with a heavy sigh. 

“‘M sorry,” Fitz said, his voice sounding a bit rougher than usual. 

Her curious expression softened as she watched him, his face displaying his obvious discomfort as he made an appointment with his therapist. In truth, Jemma was nervous about that as well. She knew that Dr. Thornton had suggested that what Fitz was feeling for her was nothing more than jealousy, that he was merely clinging to the closest relationship he’d ever been able to form, and she feared that Fitz might come to the same conclusion. However, that concern paled in comparison to his mental health, and she knew he had made improvements working with the older woman. His health came first, and Jemma was able to give him a genuine smile as she sat next to him on the bunk. 

“Why are you sorry?” she asked, slipping her hand onto his knee and giving it a small squeeze. “You certainly don’t need to apologize to me for anything.” 

He made a little face, mouth twisting and averting his eyes, half-ashamed of his reaction to being home. “I didna think it’d be quite so bad,” he admitted, willing to level with her now they had some privacy. “I was nervous about i’ all along, bu’ once we were here...” Fitz visibly shuddered, thinking back to the time when Jemma had startled him, coming up behind him in the kitchen. “I’ve never really panicked like tha’ before. No’ even when someone’s really startled me.” 

The train lurched then, a subtle jolt as the engine began to pull the cars away from the station platform, and Fitz quietly eyed the passing scenery. “Good riddance,” he said softly. “This place doesna hold anythin’ but bad memories for me.” 

Jemma watched him for a long moment, wondering, perhaps foolishly, if she would be overstepping herself by offering him any kind of comfort. She and Fitz had discussed a lot, and shared a great portion of their lives, but he had never been forthcoming where his past was concerned. All she knew was what he had told her that one night ages ago, and while she had filled in most of the blanks, it was more than enough for her to hate his family and those who had let it happen. And hate didn’t come easily to Jemma Simmons. 

Brushing aside her initial concern about overstepping, she leaned into Fitz, her hand drifting from his knee to find his hand and tangling their fingers together. She rested her head on his shoulder, watching as the city dropped away. “We’ll be home soon, Fitz,” she murmured, nuzzling in against him and giving his fingers a tight squeeze. Home had a whole other set of concerns, but they seemed to be infinitely better than what faced them here. 

Fitz returned the squeeze, but slipped his fingers free of Jemma’s. He wasn’t quite settled yet, and he was torn between wanting to keep Jemma close and having a bit of time alone now that there was peace and quiet and privacy. His tone reticent, Fitz tipped his head to lean his jaw against her hair. “Jem… would y’ mind terribly if I asked for a bi’ o’ time t’ myself? I jus’... need a few minutes. Get my head back on straigh’.” 

They’d passed through the cafe car on their way to the sleeper cabins, and it wasn’t far, just a car or two up the train. “I wouldna mind a cuppa, if y’ wouldna mind goin’ t’ get it,” he suggested hesitantly. 

A part of Jemma was stung by his pulling away, even though she logically understood the need. She couldn’t say she wouldn’t do something similar in his shoes, and if Fitz needed time alone, she’d gladly give it to him. Nodding, she stood and dug into her smaller bag for her wallet. Once she found it, Jemma flashed him a quick, reassuring smile and slipped out the door and into the hall. 

She found the cafe car easily enough, but purposefully lingered for a few moments, pretending to read the menu and letting the few other passengers that had gathered there slip ahead of her in line in order to give Fitz a few extra minutes. Eventually, though, she ordered two chamomile teas and a packet of biscuits for them to share, and after grabbing a few packets of honey, slowly made her way back to their compartment. 

She knocked on the door when she finally got there, not wanting to just walk in on the off chance Fitz was still trying to gather his thoughts.


	23. Chapter 23

Fitz had climbed up onto the top bunk almost as soon as Jemma left, staring up at the ceiling and letting the steady white-noise of the train soothe him. After the first few minutes he simply focused on breathing in and out, counting the inhales to ten and the exhales back down to zero, and felt his nerves slowly drop the rest of the tension, the faint jangling in the back of his head ceasing. 

By the time Jemma’s soft knock disturbed the quiet, he was feeling much more settled. Certainly more capable of interacting with Jemma, at the very least. “Come in, Jemma,” he called down, hurriedly dropping down and taking hold of the heavy sliding door when he realized she was struggling with it and everything in her hands. “Shite. Sorry about tha’. I wasna thinkin’.” 

“It’s all right, Fitz, really,” Jemma reassured him, her voice bright but low, as if she were worried about disturbing the passengers in the compartments around them. She handed him one of the teas and the packet of biscuits with a little nod of reassurance before settling gingerly on the lower bunk and dropping the packets of honey next to her. Purposely leaving the seat beside her open, Jemma tilted her head first at Fitz, then at the seat, silently letting him know the space was for him, if he wanted it. 

But that was all she could think to do for him. He had asked for space, and she had gladly given it. Jemma wouldn’t push him now, either, despite the questions that had begun bubbling up in her mind about his youth. Fitz clearly still needed at least a bit of time, and some more distance between himself and the city limits, before he could even consider answering those queries. So, for now, she was content to merely sip her tea and let him lead. 

He didn’t exactly hesitate before sliding into the gap next to her, but he was watching for her silent nod, relieved when it came immediately. Fitz sat and pressed back against the wall, cradling the hot cup in both hands and staring moodily down at the lid. For the first time in ages, he had the thought arc through his mind that Jemma could do so much better than him. Even as a friend. 

Inwardly he cursed his parents, especially his father, for ruining him in a way. For making it so Fitz had even less chance of relating to people than he did naturally because he was so distrustful. Jemma had caught him in a vulnerable moment that night at the hospital, zoned out on ketamine, desperately forcing himself to be as normal as he could and pretend nothing was wrong with him being in the hospital and bringing up all those memories. Surely, if they’d met any other time or place she’d never have given him the time of day. 

Fitz had thought he’d buried those feelings down deep, but being back in Glasgow, even for this brief time, had easily unearthed them. While those brief minutes alone had helped, a piece of him was still raw and needy, regressed to that terrified kid who’d left home for Uni determined to never come back. His fidgeting fingers and the tense, miserable expression on his face gave him away and Fitz knew it. She knew him too well by now not to be able to read him like a book. 

Jemma felt her heart break a bit more as she watched the man next to her, huddled against the seat back as though he were afraid of taking up too much space in the tiny compartment. Seeing him in distress this way woke a fiercely protective side of her, and not for the first time, she wished she could take Fitz' parents to task for the obvious damage they had done their son. 

The clinician in her wanted to explain away his stress using the same step by step process that proved effective with her patients, but Jemma recognized that it would do no good. Fitz had a therapist, and a highly trained one at that. The last thing he needed was another medical explanation. 

Shifting her paper cup to her left hand, Jemma waited for an opportune moment, and once he was distracted taking a sip of his tea, took the chance lace their fingers together in a loose grip. "I know it's not over just yet," she slowly began, "but I'd like to do this again. The vacationing together, I mean."

She was still trying to find a way to broach the subject of what he was going through, but until she did, she could at least find a way to distract him.

Fitz was almost foolishly grateful for the excuse to change the subject for a little while, setting his tea aside and drawing Jemma’s hand into his lap to hold in both his own. His fingers fidgeted a bit, thumbs stroking over her skin and mapping out her knuckles and palm as he finally spoke. “Me too. I know I wen’ about it the wrong way a’ first, talkin’ to Dr. Singh without telling y’, but it all worked out, yeah?” 

He glanced over at her, one shoulder lifting in a shrug and his expression sheepish. “I dinna know when we’ll ever have time off a’ the same time again, or when I’ll have the money again, but… I’d like tha’. If we can make it work, sometime.” Inwardly, he couldn’t help but be reminded how much he didn’t deserve her. Jemma was endlessly forgiving and he knew just how difficult he could be. Just that she wanted to spend more time with him in general was always a source of surprise, much less her limited vacation time. Or that she was considering anything beyond friendship with him. 

That moment between them on the couch, the one that had almost gotten out of hand, was still hanging around in the back of his mind. For the moment though, all the memories from his childhood and teenage years were still in the forefront and Fitz needed to put them back in his past, where they belonged. 

Fitz’ pulling her hand into his lap had the added effect of tipping Jemma to the side, causing her shoulder to press in against his arm. She allowed her head to drop to his shoulder, smiling a bit as she watched him toy with her hand. He took a few moments, and it seemed to Jemma that his nerves were slowly, bit by bit, leaching out of him. He wasn’t entirely comfortable, and Jemma certainly wouldn’t expect him to be anywhere near feeling steady, 

Part of her worried about that, about Fitz’ ability to feel steady in the long term with her. There were a lot of questions, and most of the answers she would expect to have weren’t the ones she wanted. By his own admission, he’d never been monogamous. Or with a woman. He’d had no long lasting relationships, either, but yet… Jemma believed they could make it work. She certainly hadn’t had any emotionally intimate relationships, either, not outside her mother and sisters, but being with Fitz was easy. Neither of them were perfect, not by a long shot, but she trusted him to keep her secrets and put her wellbeing first. Jemma hoped he trusted her to the same extent. 

Turning her head into Fitz’ shoulder, she pressed a quick kiss there and nuzzled in, getting comfortable before speaking. “I could treat next time, you know. There’s no reason it has to be all on you.” She tilted her chin upward so he could see her soft smile, and since she was feeling affectionate, to pressed another kiss to his cheek. “And, we’ll see what happens when it comes time to my vacation hours when my residency is up. It’s still a ways off, but eventually I should have set hours and a bit more vacation time.”

Fitz might not be back to normal just yet, but Jemma’s trust set a little piece of himself in place again. She never failed to find ways to remind him that he wasn’t as broken as he thought he was, without ever saying a word. She was a bit psychic that way and he was grateful for the skill now. Just the weight of her head against his shoulder, relaxed and quiet and comfortable, seemed to transmit some of that same calm to him. 

Her soft, affectionate kisses had his fingers snugging around Jemma’s, and his head tipping to rest against hers even as he started to protest her offer. A few words in, Fitz choked off his argument and sighed. “I suppose there’s no poin’ in even tryin’ that, since I paid for this trip, huh?” he said, admitting defeat mostly graciously. “Jus’ tryin no’ t’ go overboard or get too extravagant, would y’? I’ll never be able t’ match tha’.” While he wouldn’t keep a dollar for dollar tally to make sure she didn’t spend more than he had, he didn’t want there to be a glaring discrepancy, either. 

“Fitz,” she chided gently, leaning into him a bit more firmly as she shot him a knowing look. She knew he was sensitive about money, had known it since that dinner with her parents ages ago, but she had hoped he’d known her well enough to trust she wouldn’t intentionally do something to embarrass him. “It’s just a thought. Details could be worked out later, but I promise, nothing over the top.” 

Jemma wondered if one of those details would be one bed or two, but bit her tongue. Now wasn’t the time to push the subject. She’d promised him two months to figure himself out and she’d give it to him without being overtly impatient. Fitz deserved that. 

Jemma set her now empty paper cup to the side and reached into her pocket for her mobile. Pressing the power button, she illuminated the screen to see the time and tilted it so Fitz could see it, too. “It’s getting late, and we’ve had a full day. I think trying to get a few solid hours of sleep would do us some good.” She allowed the statement to hang there, leaving it up to Fitz if he wanted to turn in for the night. 

It had been a long day, but Fitz wasn’t ready to settle yet. Or rather, Fitz was afraid that if he tried - and if he actually got to sleep - there’d be no point because it’d just be restless or broken up by nightmares. He let go of Jemma’s hand though, laying it on his thigh and picking up his own cup, still full of tea, to sip at it. Trying to be reassuring, he gave her a wan smile. “No’ quite ready t’ settle in jus’ yet, but if you’re tired, go on. I’ll be quie’ as I can, let y’ get some sleep.”

He would have gone ahead and slid off the bunk then, climbing to the upper one again, but Jemma was still cozily tipped into his side and Fitz wouldn’t deliberately jar her. “Go on,” he repeated. “I’ve go’ my laptop and headphones in my backpack up there. I’ll be fine.” 

Jemma had been ready to tell him no, she was fine, when a yawn suddenly overtook her. Looking more than a bit sheepish, she nodded before reluctantly peeling herself from his side to chuck her cup and tug out her sleeping things. By the time she had turned around, Fitz had settled in the upper bunk, laptop open and headphone plugged in. She gave him a quick smile before ducking back into the bottom bunk. It was a tight space, and would be more than a little awkward, but it was the only place she had to change, other than smack dab in the center of the tiny compartment. 

Contorting herself, Jemma managed to get her shirt halfway over her head without incident. However, when she tried to finish the job, she somehow wound up smacking first her right fist into the bottom of the bunk above her, and then her elbow into the wall. “Ow,” she whined once she managed to get her shirt off and rubbed her elbow a bit. “Whichever engineer designed these bloody things deserves a good kick in the arse.”

Fitz couldn’t hear her with the headphones on, but he felt the vibration from her hitting the bottom of his bunk and the wall. Tugging the earbuds out, he asked, “Wha’ are y’ doin’ down there?” as he leaned over the edge of the bunk - only to flush pink and draw himself back up into his own space. 

“Sorry, lass, I didna realize,” Fitz apologized immediately, also realizing why she was changing in her bunk and he’d just gotten a peek at exactly what she’d been trying to hide. “Y’ can get up and change, Jem. I willna look, I promise.” As good as his word, Fitz moved his laptop and twisted up onto his side, putting his back to the tiny room. 

It wasn’t like Fitz hadn’t ever gotten a peek at her before. He’d gotten veiled glimpses of her before when she’d worn that silk robe in front of him. Hell, he’d had his hands and mouth on her and an up close and personal view the other night when things had gotten out of hand. And yet just that very brief reminder had him sighing softly, just as confused as ever, and yet aroused, too. 

Jemma yelped a bit when she’d seen Fitz peeking down from the upper bunk, and had flushed a bright pink as well when he told her to just come out and change. She crept from her bunk, top still in hand, and glanced into the upper bunk. Good as his word, her best friend was on his side, facing away from the center of the room to give her the space she needed so she could get ready for bed. 

She was likely being foolish, Jemma thought as she tugged on the t-shirt she slept in and shucked off her jeans. He’d seen her in various states of undress, and it had never been a problem before, but now, after what she was privately beginning to think of as the incident, it felt… dishonest to just strip out of her clothing in front of him. Almost as if she would be forcing his hand before he was ready to make a choice on his own. Jemma refused to do that. 

She quickly tugged on her bottoms, and once her clothing was neatly folded and tucked back into the side of her bag, stepped up close to the edge of the bunks. “Fitz?” she called, hopefully loud enough for him to hear her over his headphones, and reached out a careful hand to rest on his arm. “Thank you,” she added, giving him a light squeeze. “Have a good night.” 

With that, she crawled into her own bunk, curl onto her side, and dropped off to sleep. 

Fitz did exactly as promised, staying quiet and letting Jemma sleep. Even when he let himself out of the compartment to use the toilet and get himself another cup of tea to replace the one that had gone cold, he slipped out of the room and back in without Jemma so much as twitching. It was hours before he finally made himself turn off the laptop, putting it in his backpack and pushing the whole thing down to the foot of the bunk. 

As expected, he eventually drifted into a restless sleep, dreams peppered with memories that twisted into things that had never happened - or worse, replaying the memories terrible enough to be nightmares all on their own. At some point, Fitz must have flailed about in his sleep - he woke to a sharp pain in his elbow, and Jemma’s face peering at him worriedly over the edge of the bunk. 

When her eyes flew open in the middle of the night, it took Jemma a moment to realize where she was and why the entire room was rocking. She was on a train, traveling home to London with Fitz. Being able to place where she was and why calmed the nerves from her sudden jolt into wakefulness, and with a soft groan, she lowered herself back onto her pillow, intent on falling back into her dreamless sleep. 

That was until she heard it. 

Jemma thought it was the train at first, some creaky hinge that squeaked with their steady movement, but then it changed, just the slightest bit. She sat up again, swinging her feet out of her bunk and tilting her head to better hear the sound. There it was again, a soft whimper followed by a moan that sounded almost pained, and the rustle of blankets as someone shifted restlessly beneath them. Fitz, she realized. It had to be Fitz, and Jemma stood from her seat to look in on him and make sure he hadn’t taken ill in the middle of the night. 

Just as she went to reach for him, hoping to slowly wake him from what was clearly a bad dream, Fitz woke himself, turning toward the wall of the compartment and cracking his elbow sharply. The effect was nearly instantaneous, and he sat up and looked around, clearly bewildered. Jemma stepped forward when their eyes locked, and reached out to cover his hand with hers. She nibbled on her bottom lip a moment, deliberating what was really the best course of action before realizing that thinking too much was not her friend at the moment. 

Releasing him, Jemma reached for his bag and set it in her own rumpled bunk before turning her attention to her friend. “Move over,” she whispered in the dark as she swung a leg into his bunk and pulled herself over the edge. Once she was in and under the covers, Jemma arranged them so Fitz was folded around her, his arm banded over her waist and the blanket tucked up to their shoulders. Warm, content, and beginning to feel sleepy once more, she murmured, “Better?”

Fitz felt bad for waking her, but he was also shaken enough by his nightmares to not protest when Jemma crawled into the narrow bunk with him without even asking. At least there were straps intended to make sure no one fell out of the bunk, so cramming the two of them onto the small mattress wasn’t as problematic as it could be. 

Silently holding the blankets up for her, he let Jemma take over from there. Once she’d settled in, her back nestled against his front, Fitz sighed softly and tipped his head to hide his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. He nodded at her soft question, grateful that Jemma wasn’t going to push for more than he was willing or able to give at the moment. Fitz was still more than half caught up in his dreams, although this time it wasn’t the fear taking hold, it was the anger and frustration that he hadn’t been able to get out sooner than he did. 

Still, he couldn’t talk about it yet, so he wrapped his arm a little tighter around Jemma and simply clung to her for a while. 

Jemma laid her arm over his, where it was snugged tightly over her waist, and leaned back into him as she worked her fingers between his own. She could feel Fitz trembling a bit against her back, and hoped that just being near enough would be enough to take that from him, or least would give him the support he needed to put himself in a better state of mind. 

Time seemed to stop in that dark, quiet compartment as they sped toward London, and Jemma wasn’t quite sure how long had passed by the time Fitz seemed to have calmed some. His trembling had nearly subsided entirely, and his grip on her had loosened slightly, although he still kept himself pressed close to her. “You know,” Jemma whispered, unwilling to break the quiet although she knew she had to, “I’m here for you, Fitz. Regardless of what you tell me or don’t. But, if you want to talk…I’m here.” 

“Is no’... No’ tha’ I dinna want t’ tell you,” he whispered back after a long hesitation, “There’s so damn much of it, I dinna even know where t’ begin.” The only person he’d ever really talked to about it was Dr. Thornton, and even she had gotten it in bits and pieces, prompted by questions and observations and pointed looks whenever Fitz hesitated over something. 

It hadn’t been an easy road, taking years of therapy just to get him to this point. And for him to talk to Jemma about all of it… Fitz couldn’t help the inward fears about Jemma truly understanding just how broken he still was. She knew some of it, just based on his reactions to things sometimes, and his unhealthy views on sex and relationships, but she didn’t know everything. Not even close. 

Fitz shivered lightly behind her, ducking his face in against the back of her shoulder again. “What do y’ want t’ know, lass?” 

She felt his involuntary reaction as he pressed his face against her, and Jemma’s heart broke a bit more. She wanted to know all of it, from start to finish, even though she was certain it would be painful. And if it were painful for her, it would be doubly so for Fitz. Part of her wanted to shield him from that, wanted to just protect him from having to live it over again, but she also knew that if they ever wanted to have a romantic relationship, they couldn’t have something like this looming over them. 

Tugging gently, Jemma brought his hand to her lips and brushed a kiss against each of his knuckles before pressing herself into him in the hopes that he would use her as whatever support he needed. “When did it start? With your father, I mean.” Her voice broke slightly on the word ‘father,’ as every atom of her being resisted applying that word to the man who had sired Fitz. He certainly didn’t deserve the title, but for lack of a better word to apply to him, it would have to do. 

Fitz was almost relieved when she understood and picked up on his suggestion. He could answer questions. Answers were factual, they didn’t have to be emotional, although he rather suspected that here in the dark, enclosed space of this small bunk, the white noise of the train around them, Jemma might get more out of him than she would any other time. 

He pulled in a breath, steadying himself as he considered the question. “I’m no’ even sure, really. Lookin’ back, I dinna think Da ever liked me much. Bu’ I also dinna think he really liked anybody. No’ even Mum.” Fitz had his suspicions about their relationship as well, but he’d never gotten her to admit if the older man had been abusing her, too. “First time he really hi’ me, I was ten - maybe eleven? I’d taken apart the coffeepot t’ clean i’ for Mum. She’d been complainin’ tha’ the coffee didna taste righ’ anymore an’ we had bad tap water, so I though’ t’ clean it all. Da came home before I was done puttin’ it back together, backhanded me for ruinin’ a perfec’ly good coffeepot an’ threw the lot out. And again the nex’ day when I rescued it from the trash and finished it - an’ it worked better than before. Became a habit after a while.” 

His father’s fury at coming home and seeing the coffeepot bubbling away on the counter was burned into his mind - Fitz would never forget that, ever. Or his father’s spite - the parsimonious bastard was too cheap to throw out something that worked even to prove a point to his son. That had happened often over the years, Fitz fixing things and his father’s anger simmering under the surface every time he had to use something Fitz had worked on - or worse, improved. 

“You’d think I’d have learned t’ stop fixin’ things, knowin’ it’d only earn me a beatin’. I was a stubborn little shite even then,” Fitz admitted. 

Jemma barked out an aborted, humorless laugh as she lay in Fitz’s arms, and snugged her fingers more tightly about his. More than anything, she wanted to turn so she could get her arms around him, too, but she held still. If she managed to get any kind of hold on him, Jemma had a feeling she’d just dissolve into tears as well, imagining Fitz as a little boy, skinny and determined and just waiting for the next blow to come. 

“Forgive me for saying it, Fitz, but I think there’s a special place in hell for people like your father,” Jemma stated, her tone clearly indicating she felt no compunction when it came to judging Fitz’ father. She had her feelings regarding his mother as well. Jemma knew the woman was a nurse and had covered for her husband by patching their son up at home, something she found to be nearly unforgivable. Still, she wanted to hear it from Fitz himself. 

“What about your mum? She… she didn’t try at all to stop him?” 

Fitz shrugged the shoulder not trapped underneath him. “Sometimes, at the beginnin’, at least. I think - I’m no’ sure - bu’ I think he was doin’ things t’ her too, where I couldna see.” He’d always wondered about that, with their bedroom on the second floor on the opposite side of the small house, and his downstairs in the back. There was a perfectly good bedroom upstairs next to theirs, set up as a guest room, but the arrangement had never struck him as odd until he was older. 

“Once I started showin’ signs o’ bein’ gay though… She didna like tha’ much, either, even if she wasna vocal abou’ it like Da,” Fitz said softly. He was glad Jemma wasn’t facing him and couldn’t see him. There was still a part of him deep down that had been raised in the Catholic faith and was deeply ashamed of himself, even as it warred with the logical side that said it was foolish to denounce someone for something they had no control over. “She stopped standin’ between us at all, after tha’. An’ then I started fightin’ back, which is when she couldna always hide things by treatin’ me at home. So she’d take me t’ A&E, never a’ the hospital she worked at. Sometimes outside o’ the city altogether.” 

Jemma shuddered, and bit her lip on a sharp comment about outdated modes of thinking and the hypocrisy that seemed to follow organize religion. As much as she knew Fitz wasn’t religious, people could be oddly protective of the way they were raised, even if there weren’t many positives to the situation. Besides, her giving in to her desire to be critical wouldn’t change the past; she’d be doing it to make herself feel better, which wouldn’t help Fitz in the least. 

“When did you first realize you were gay?” Jemma’s question was fueled not only by her curiosity, but also by a desire to hopefully find at least one happy memory for him in his life in Glasgow. She knew, logically speaking, that it was unlikely, but she still held out hope for hearing about Fitz’ first crush, or someone who helped him get through it at least a bit. 

“Y’ mean consciously knowin’? Uhh,” Fitz had to stop and think about it, because there’d been a shift in there, from where he’d liked boys but hadn’t quite understood what that meant, to knowing and understanding it wasn’t an accepted thing, to fully acknowledging it was part of who he was. And each of those steps had marked a milestone for him, so the distinction felt important. “I never liked girls t’ start with. Bu’ I was young, sheltered, an’ I spent most o’ my time with my head in books so i’ didna register as a particular problem.” 

“I must have been thirteen or thereabouts when I realized i’ wasna okay. Or a’ leas’ there are people who think is no’ okay. I’d always been quie’ and kep’ my head down a’ school - I didna fit in anyway - bu’ tha’ became a thing, too. Between the school bullies an’ Da, I wasna allowed t’ forget i’. An’ it wasna until I got to London an’ Uni tha’ I started t’ come t’ terms with i’.” Fitz sighed heavily, his voice low and aching, “Still a work in progress, really.” 

Her brows knit together when she heard that. Fitz was so cavalier when it came to going out and the men he took home (or went home with), that it had never occurred to Jemma that he wasn’t 100% comfortable with it. At least, that’s what “work in progress” implied to her. The question flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself. 

“Work in progress? How do you mean?” 

He could hear the surprise in her voice and it made him flinch back from her, almost feeling like she was accusing him of something. “I dinna see a therapist for nothin’, Jemma. There are a lo’ of things I dinna much like about myself, and tha’s one of them. Do y’ really want t’ get into all the deep psychological reasons I never ge’ involved with anybody or feel like I canna connect with anyone?” 

Fitz felt like a knot had formed in his chest, the pain somehow both aching and sharp. He knew Jemma likely hadn’t meant it to be hurtful, but he couldn’t help his reaction either. There were reasons Dr. Thornton had suspected he was latching onto her, after all. Jemma was the only person he’d ever managed to sustain a relationship with, ever, and of course he was bound to cling to that connection. Fitz, despite his outward brusqueness, was only human after all. 

“I…” Jemma hesitated and ducked her head further into the pillow, more than a little unsure of how she should go about clearing up her question. She hadn’t meant to make Fitz feel ashamed or guilty over his seeing a therapist, as his tone seemed to imply. “I just meant about you being gay, Fitz. I didn’t mean the rest.”

Of course she understood why he would have trouble forming lasting relationships, and why trust wouldn’t be high on the list of things that came easily to him. Though, despite that logical understanding, Jemma fought back the urge to be stung by his words. She knew better than that. She knew that the two of them had a closer relationship than they likely had with anyone else, but… the mere idea, no matter how ridiculous, that Fitz still didn’t feel connected to her after their months of friendship and whatever else they were flirting with… well, it just plain hurt. 

Deciding that asking another question at the moment wouldn’t do her any good, nor was it what either of them needed, Jemma tightened her grip on him, tilted her head back onto his shoulder, and gave him what little reassurance she could offer. “I’m not sure it’s worth much, but, you know I love you, right? Regardless of anything else, you’re my friend, and I love you.”

Fitz very nearly said something else, made wary by the way Jemma quickly backpedaled away from her question and his reaction to it. Before he managed to formulate anything that wouldn’t feel hurtful to either of them, Jemma distracted him by closing the distance he’d created, tucking back into his hold. Between her quiet words, the wall now up against his back and Jemma pressed tightly against his front, Fitz suddenly felt safer than he had in hours. 

He really didn’t like her phrasing though, and his fingers closed tighter around hers. “Jemma. I didna mean… is worth a lo’. An’ I love y’, too. I hope y’ know tha’.” It worried him, that she’d doubted that after everything. She was the only person he’d ever had that he’d ever been able to count on, to have faith in and trust that she wouldn’t hurt him. There were still days when he had trouble reconciling how different his life was now than it had been a year ago. 

“I know. I really, really do,” Jemma reassured him, voice more than a little watery. Tears had pricked the corners of her eyes when Fitz had said her words were worth a lot. For a man who, it was becoming clearer to Jemma, should have had next to no reason to trust anyone, let alone a girl he met during a stay in A&E, those words were worth their weight in gold. 

That thought gave her pause, and Jemma took a moment to marvel at where they were now, compared to where they’d both been when they met. They shouldn’t be friends, period, not by any stretch of the imagination, a poor boy from Glasgow and the daughter of society darlings. But Fitz was the first friend she’d had that hadn’t been looking to use her family’s vacation home or bank account for something or other, and Jemma would be damned if she ever let that go. 

“Fitz?” she called softly, a question forming in the back of her mind. “Am… am I the first person you’ve ever trusted?”

There was a long hesitation while Fitz argued with himself. He could hear the tears in Jemma’s voice, but he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad - or whether she’d want him to acknowledge them at the moment. After all, he was taking advantage of the dark to hide his expressions from her, too, unsettled by the subject matter and feeling too raw and anxious to let her quite so far in. 

It wasn’t until she spoke again and he heard the tentative, vulnerable note in Jemma’s voice that he was able to make up his mind. Drawing back in the scant space and curling his fingers around her arm, Fitz tugged a bit, urging her to turn toward him. “I sor’ of thought y’ had figured tha’ out already,” he admitted quietly, “Bu’ yeah. Y’ are.” 

She had to wiggle a bit to do what he wanted, but Jemma eventually worked herself into a position where she could just see his face in her peripheral vision. In the dim light, Fitz’ usually bright eyes looked almost black, and she felt her heart sink a bit more as she witnessed his sorrow reflected there. The best she could do was be a sounding board for him, to be steady and there when he needed her. 

Moving gingerly, she shifted back to where she’d been, snugged tightly in his arms. “Thank you,” she stated plainly into the darkness. It meant the world to her to hear that he trusted her implicitly, even though she could have ventured a guess and come to the same conclusion. She held there for a few minutes, enjoying being close to him and feeling him breathing, before venturing another question. 

“Why did you start going out on weekends?” Jemma had been wondering that for a while why Fitz, who didn’t care much for random strangers on his best days, would purposely go out and surround himself with them. “I mean… I understand wanting to lose yourself for a bit, we all do that, but why do you keep going? Particularly since it doesn’t seem to make you entirely happy.”

Fitz frowned slightly when she gave him her back again, but at least she was still curled up with him. He let out a small sound; more of a snort than anything as she settled back in. “Ah, I wouldna say it doesna make me happy. Honestly, it started ou’ as a challenge from Dr. Thornton. Tryin’ t’ get me out, t’ see some of the gay community, t’ be aroun’ people I was no’ comfortable with. Jus’ generally an attempt t’ push me out o’ my shell.” He didn’t think he needed to tell her that he’d resisted at first, and generally made it difficult on himself. It was Fitz’ default mode when put in an unfamiliar situation, really. 

“After a while, I got used t’ it, an’ eventually started to like it. Is just… I can go, and have a few drinks an’ have a good time, an’ pick someone up if I wan’. If no’, I can go home. It doesna have t’ be anythin’ I dinna want it t’ be,” he said, not sure if he was explaining it well enough to be understood. “Mos’ everyone there is ou’ for the same thing. Me bein’ who I am outside of a club doesna make a damn bi’ of difference while I’m inside of i’. Or if I pick someone up, we have a good time an’ tha’s tha’. It doesna have t’ be anythin’ more than wha’ it is.” Fitz huffed out a breath, warm against Jemma’s shoulder, and propped his head up on his elbow, peering at her in the dark. 

Jemma could feel his gaze on her, and held as still as she could, lying next to him in the dark. The idea that Fitz would always prefer to live in the moment, would rather that all of his sexual encounters, regardless of who they were with, to be fleeting affairs made her stomach clench. It was another risk of pursuing anything with him, but a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered that Fitz would be worth it in the long run. If they could make it work. 

“Is it the control then?” she asked, speculating aloud more than actually asking him. “You can set the terms, so nothing surprises you. After everything else, I could see how that would be preferable.”

“No,” Fitz said slowly, dragging the word out. There was an aspect of control about it, but that wasn’t why he preferred things that way. And he wasn’t sure if he was prepared for Jemma to understand it, but really, she probably knew already even if she’d never thought about it from this particular perspective. 

“Is damn hard t’ fail or feel like you’re no’ good enough when there were no expectations t’ start with,” he said quietly. “If they dinna mean anythin’, it doesna hurt when they walk away.” Which was not only the key to understanding why Fitz operated the way he did, but also to why he was so damned scared to get involved with Jemma past what they already had. 

Unsure and a little scared despite himself, Fitz drew his arm back a bit, fingers fidgeting against Jemma’s arm. 

Jemma hadn’t expected his withdrawal, no matter how slight, and followed him without hesitation. She shifted onto her back, her shoulder and arm still pressed against his chest, and tilted her face to look up at him. Fitz was nervous, and perhaps a little scared. That much was plain, even in the dark, and she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together once more. She toyed with them for a few moments, his long, graceful digits suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world as she spoke.

She wanted to apologize for everything that happened to him, wanted to reiterate how wonderful she thought he was, but it would do no good. Fitz wouldn't hear a word she was saying right now. "I can understand that," she murmured, opting to leave her thought that anyone who willingly left him was mental unspoken. 

His expression twisted as Jemma caught his fingers in hers and drew his hand and arm back over her. Her unexpected and nearly unshakeable faith in him humbled Fitz sometimes. Certainly it made him try harder for her sake than he would have on his own, just to try and keep that sad and disappointed expression off her face when he was too brusque or sarcastic. 

Fitz didn’t know how to be the person she’d need him to be if they went any further than this, even if he did manage to come to some sort of conclusion about everything else. It was all complicated and more than anything he was terrified of failing her. He felt a bit like a broken record, harping on that, but it was true. And just as he’d said… it was hard to feel like he wasn’t good enough if there wasn’t an expectation for him to live up to in the first place. Being Jemma’s friend had been relatively easy - she hadn’t had much to compare him to. All he’d had to do was let her in, really, and Jemma had made herself at home in his life and his space without him having to do much of anything but say yes. 

But to be Jemma’s boyfriend. Or Jemma’s lover… There were so very many things that could go wrong and it would only reinforce that Fitz would never be good enough for the people he cared most about. 

He pulled in a shaking breath and shook his head. “No… I’m no’ sure y’ do. Bu’ I’m no’ sure I can explain, i’, either,” Fitz whispered. Done in, feeling hollow and drained, he laid his folded arm down, using it to cradle his head, the other still draped over Jemma’s belly where she was idly playing with his fingers. “Is late. We should try t’ get more sleep.” 

Jemma couldn’t help the sad way her mouth twisted when Fitz told her she couldn’t understand what he was feeling. It was the first time in a long time she had felt purposely shut out by him, although Jemma really did believe she understood. A person who had been beat down their entire life didn’t suddenly believe they were worth good things, even if they were, no matter how often or how hard someone tried to prove it to them. So, it was all Jemma could do to nod her agreement when Fitz mentioned wanting to settle down for the night. 

“Sleep would be good for us both,” she said with a soft smile that even she knew didn’t quite manage to reach her eyes. She watched as Fitz arranged himself on the pillow before allowing her eyes to flutter shut. However, Jemma resisted the urge to drift off straight away; instead, she listened for the sound of his breathing to even out. Only once she was satisfied that he’d truly fallen asleep did Jemma turn towards Fitz, finally giving in to the urge to wrap her arms about him as she tucked her head against his chest and drifted off herself. 

Somehow Fitz wasn’t especially surprised to wake all tangled up with Jemma. It seemed to be the default now, whenever they slept in the same place. What startled him the rest of the way awake was realizing at some point, he’d snuggled down into her. Jemma’s chin was perched atop his curls, his head pillowed against her chest, his arms both wound tight around her waist despite the one she was laying on having long since gone numb. 

The bunk wasn’t that big to start with, and caught between Jemma and the wall the feeling of being safe washed through him again. He did have to carefully extract his arm from under her, but otherwise Fitz stayed right where he was for a long while, simply basking in that feeling. Not for the first time, he wondered if Jemma felt the same way when she was with him, even knowing he’d likely never ask her. Fitz wasn’t sure if he’d want to hear the answer, still feeling like he didn’t have much to offer anyone.

Jemma stirred just then, thankfully distracting him from that darker thought, and Fitz decided to indulge himself a bit. Pressing soft, nuzzling kisses up Jemma’s neck, he eventually found her mouth with his and lingered there until she was awake enough to respond with sleepy kisses of her own. It felt intimate - hell, it was intimate - but as Jemma had noted the night before, she was the first person he’d ever trusted. Fitz wondered briefly if she realized she really was the first - he didn’t even trust himself. 

She was dimly aware of being warm and feeling wonderfully content, lulled by the swaying of the train and the now familiar feeling of being wrapped in Fitz’ arms. Before, when they had first started sleeping in the same bed, Jemma had needed a moment on waking to realize who, exactly, was twined about her. Now, however, there was no question of whose arms held her tight to his chest, or whose lips could so easily seek out all of the sensitive spots on her neck, effectively tugging her from sleep. 

“Fitz.” His name escaped past her lips on a soft sigh before Jemma returned his kisses, just as soft and slow as he gave them to her. Something about this felt different than the other kisses they shared, at least for Jemma, and the only thing she could think to call it was intimacy. What’s more, she realized as she kissed Fitz, waking a bit more with each press of the lips they exchanged, she hadn’t felt this kind of feeling in her other relationships. Certainly not with William. 

Thinking of him was a mistake, and Jemma felt herself flinch internally before she refocused on kissing Fitz, her fingers winding their way into the thin cotton of the shirt he’d worn to bed. Eventually, though, she did need to regain her breath, and sank back into the pillows to give him a pleased, sleepy smile. She’d be happy to wake this way every day if she could, and she hoped the grin she gave him was enough to express that. 

Fitz liked the way Jemma never failed to curl in closer to him when he kissed her. Even when there really wasn’t room to do so, she pressed in tighter against his body, fingers clinging to whatever bit of him was closest. It made him feel wanted, even just for his presence, even though he was aware Jemma wanted far more from him than that. And that was the thought he had to back away from and push aside to focus on her. 

He’d stretched up to kiss her and drew back when Jemma did, his face level with her chin and letting them both catch their breath a bit. Her eyes were brighter than usual, smile warm and sweet and soft. She looked happier than he’d seen her in some time, and it hit Fitz in the gut that he’d caused that just by kissing her. Curious, testing the hypothesis as he’d trained to do, he reached up to cup her chin, his thumb rubbing over her jaw, and leaned up to kiss her again. 

It’s damn near perfect, from the way he cupped her face in one hand to the feel of his callused fingers shifting a bit as they both leaned into the kiss, and for once, Jemma managed to let that be enough. Somehow, she blocked the slight ache that always seemed to creep in when she kissed him these days, the desire for more and the fear that Fitz wouldn’t reciprocate, despite his best intentions to do so. No, here she was finally content to just be a woman tucked tightly into a bunk with someone who wanted to kiss her and always did a fine job of it. Sinking deeper into the kiss, she allowed her own hand to slip behind Fitz’ neck, her fingers just edging into his curls, so she could hold him in place as they continued to exchange soft, lingering kisses. 

Between the slow kisses and Jemma’s fingers at the back of his neck, Fitz was lulled back into a drowsy state. Winding his arm further around her, he closed the bit of distance between that had formed between their bodies and tucked his head into her shoulder and under her chin, nuzzling in contentedly. Had they been anywhere else, even at home in his little flat, or if there’d been anyone to see Fitz would never have been so soft or affectionate. After everything on this trip though and his reaction to Glasgow though, he was loathe to give up this moment of quiet intimacy. With Jemma warm against him, the slow rocking and white noise of the train, and the intermittent kisses they shared, Fitz drifted off again and didn’t wake until they were pulling into London. 

Jemma, however, didn’t manage to fall asleep again, and instead opted to lie there with Fitz pressed up against her as her mind raced. She wanted this, the intimacy, the trust, the obvious love that there was between them, to be a permanent thing so badly that the idea of going without it nearly drove her mad at times. She glanced down at him as she gently scratched her nails against his scalp, smiling when he nuzzled in a bit closer in response. A warm rush of affection flooded her chest, and Jemma wanted nothing more in that moment than to hide away in that compartment for a few hours more. 

The feeling broke, however, as the train pulled into London and Fitz woke, giving her a slightly sheepish smile as they disentangled themselves that made her sorely tempted to lean in and kiss him once more for good measure. She resisted though, knowing the moment had come for their vacation to well and truly be over, and slipped off the bunk to find her street clothes once more. They both dressed in the center of the compartment, backs to each other until they were both decent, and quickly packed up everything they had brought with them. 

Jemma felt her heart go heavy as they did so, likely due to the distance she felt growing between them as they slowly made their way out of the station. Each step was a sharp reminder that their vacation was truly over, slipping away from reality so quickly that by the time they reached the taxi stand, everything, including that night that burned brightly in Jemma’s memory, was nothing more than a faded memory.


	24. Chapter 24

He could practically see the walls going back up between them, and as much as he hated it Fitz understood. They were home and it was time for things to go back to normal and return to their real lives. The peace and quiet and ability to focus solely on each other had been left behind in that train compartment. 

It wasn’t until they were in line at the cab stand that Fitz’ chest went tight. He’d have to get in a cab to go back to Highgate and she’d be off to Bayswater. In separate cabs. After seven days of Jemma’s constant presence, just being able to speak to or reach out for her whenever he wanted, it felt wrong to leave her. Fitz pulled Jemma into a tight hug when they reached the front of the line. “I’ll tex’ y’ later, okay?” he said quietly, pressing a kiss against her cheek before stepping back and nodding her toward the cab. 

Fitz kept himself together until Jemma’s cab pulled away from the curb, but once he’d piled himself and his things into his own cab, his shoulders slumped. How was it possible for him to feel lonelier now than he had back in high school, when he’d been in the midst of his hellish home life and bullied along with it? Those thoughts occupied him most of the way back to north London and into his flat. 

Jemma had expected that returning to her tiny, quiet flat would be difficult, but she hadn’t expected to feel so uncomfortable in her own space that she had trouble sleeping. Yet, that was exactly what happened, with her tossing and turning for most of the night, unable to find a satisfactory position for more than ten minutes at a time. Somehow, the down pillows she had thought were perfect were not as satisfactory as curling up against the firmer planes of Fitz’ chest. 

Somehow, she managed to pull herself together enough to report to London Bridge Hospital the next day at 8 pm. It felt odd to be on shift again after so many days off; all of the patients had changed, and she spent most of the twelve hours reading over patient records and making sure she was familiar with the details of each case, all the while responding to the new cases that came into A&E. The end result was that an exhausted Jemma dragged herself home at 7 am, still half asleep on the Underground and dreading the thought of trying to sleep alone yet again. 

She shuffled up the stairs, and let herself into her flat, only to pause in the doorway. She wasn’t sure what, but something felt… off. Not ominous, but certainly not the same as she had left it. Alert now, Jemma set down her back and turned to lock the door behind her, which was when she spotted it: Fitz’ messenger bag, leaning against the wall where he usually dropped it as soon as he entered her place. The sight made her grin, pleased that he was there; even though it had been less than two full days since she’d last seen him, Jemma had begun to miss him terribly. 

She spotted Fitz, sprawled out on what she now knew was his preferred side of the bed, his laptop and papers scattered haphazardly next to him as he snored lightly. Moving gingerly and taking care to not startle him out of his doze, Jemma cleared the bed and slipped in next to him. Pressed against him, she tucked her head beneath his chin and wrapped an arm over his waist, anchoring herself to him. That wasn’t enough for her, however, and she quickly gave in to the temptation to press a soft kiss to his fuller lower lip. 

Fitz stirred when Jemma tucked in against him, sensitive to unexpected touch even in his sleep. His fingers tangled in her shirt, instinctively braced to push away whoever had invaded his space. It wasn’t until she kissed him that he startled and very nearly shoved her back before his senses registered it was Jemma curled up against him. The sudden tension drained away as quickly as it had come up and Fitz slumped into the pillow, eyes heavy and dark. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, drawing Jemma back in again. “Didna realize i’ was y’...” Still half asleep, Fitz clumsily found her mouth again to kiss her back, slow and sleepy. He’d missed her the past two days. Between not having to work and readjusting to being home, texts weren’t nearly enough to make up for her absence. To the point that he’d deliberately gotten up early and come over to see her, but clearly dozed off at some point while waiting for her to get home from work. 

“Mind if I stick aroun’ today?” he asked, clearly hesitant. Fitz didn’t want to make a nuisance of himself because he was at loose ends, especially when she still had things she had to do. And after he’d virtually stolen her away for vacation. 

The way Fitz looked at her, even after the brief moment of fear, his features softened by sleep as his hand splayed against her lower back to keep her near made Jemma’s stomach flip and her heart race. Despite the slight twinge of guilt she felt from startling him when she hadn’t meant to, she liked the quiet intimacy the moment provided, and readily kissed him back. 

“Of course you can,” she rushed to reassure him when they broke their kiss before tugging the throw she kept at the end of the bed over them both and ducking her face against his chest. “I’m afraid i’ll be terrible company though, at least for a little while.” Jemma paused to yawn before wrapping her arm about him once more. “I need a few hours of sleep, or I’ll be useless at work tonight...but as soon as I’m up, I’ll make us lunch.” 

“Take as long as y’ need. I’m jus’ going t’ hang around a bit. It go’ too quiet at my place yesterday,” he admitted. It had taken less than a week for him to get accustomed to hearing Jemma rattling about the cottage and to miss it now that he was home. 

He let Jemma snuggle in and drift off, only getting up to fetch his laptop once she was fully asleep. Fitz debated staying over on the couch, but Jemma simply looked too comfortable. And so he stole the pillows she wasn’t using and stacked them against her headboard while he did his research, unable to resist the smile that twitched at his mouth when she found her way in against his side in her sleep. Even though it meant he had to type awkwardly, his arm draped over her shoulder, Fitz let her stay there, her head pillowed against his ribs. 

She resisted waking for as long as she possibly could, not wanting to give up the comfort of being tucked against Fitz’ side. She liked it there, and felt… well, she felt safe there, in her bed with his arm curled over her shoulder as he tried to type one handed. Jemma held there for a few minutes, coming into wakefulness and just enjoying the feeling of his ribs rising and falling beneath her cheek as she watched him work. The entire thing felt incredibly domestic, same way Scotland had, and she felt a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe they could carry that through with them here. 

Eventually, she pulled away, giving Fitz a small smile as she did so. She perched at the edge of the bed and stretched before slipping off the mattress and padding her way over to her walk in closet. Tugging off her scrubs before heading into the bathroom, Jemma called over her shoulder that she just needed a moment to wash up before getting to lunch.

She was quick as she could manage, and after slipping into clean underthings and pulling on a pair of shorts and a tank, went back to Fitz. She ruffled her fingers through his curls to get his attention, and when he broke away from his research, smiled at him and asked, “Pasta or sandwiches for lunch?”

He blinked up at her, taking a moment to reroute his brain from what he’d been reading and onto Jemma’s question. As soon as it registered, his expression shifted to pleading. “Pasta?” Fitz asked, immediately perking up. “The parmesan stuff?” Jemma had a recipe for a crusted parmesan chicken that Fitz loved. With her red sauce and spaghetti, it was fantastic. 

Fitz pushed up and off the bed, setting his laptop aside to trail after her into the kitchen. “I’ll help with the prep work if y’ want me to,” he offered. They both knew he couldn’t cook worth a damn - but he could follow directions if Jemma gave him a task. 

Jemma couldn’t help but grin as she heard Fitz slip off her bed after her, his tone eager as he requested one of his favorite dishes. She didn’t do it often, although that was changing now that she was back to being single, but cooking for Fitz was quickly becoming one of her favorite things to do. He was more than happy to allow her to experiment on him, so long as she provided fair warning, and he not only helped with prep, but clean up, too. That had carried on through their vacation, where they’d developed a routine of him chopping or slicing or grating what she needed and Jemma putting it all together. 

“Sure, we can make ‘the parmesan stuff,’” Jemma readily agreed, already bending into her refrigerator to retrieve a chunk of parmesan and the chicken breast she hadn’t yet frozen. Setting them on the counter she went back and fished out some of her sauce, made in advance for occasions just such as this. She popped it in the microwave and set it to defrost before turning her attention to Fitz. “Would you mind setting some water to boil, please?” she requested as she turned to dig in her cabinets for all of the seasonings she’d need. “And then would you grate the cheese?” 

She watched from the corner of her eye as she went about her own tasks, slicing tomatoes and mozzarella for a caprese salad, and couldn’t help but grin as she watched the easy way Fitz moved about her space. It spoke to a confidence that, even a few short months ago, Jemma never would have thought he’d have here. Prior to her break up with William, she’d only seen him exhibit these qualities while building her bookshelves. It was good to see him this way, and while it had hurt her terribly at the time, Jemma realized yet again just how much better off she was with Fitz being the main man in her life, even if that posed problems as well. 

Fitz felt it was a fair trade off, letting Jemma boss him around a bit and assisting with things in the kitchen in exchange for Jemma feeding him. He technically could cook, strictly following a recipe, but it never tasted particularly good and eventually he’d just given up on figuring it out. Jemma on the other hand, rarely followed anything but the basics of a recipe and it came out wonderfully. He was the type who tended toward catering to strengths anyway, so it worked out. 

In what felt like no time at all, Jemma was plating servings of chicken and pasta and salad, along with cold vegetables from a jar. Those Fitz eyed with suspicion, especially when he speared a bit of cauliflower and lifted it to his nose, scenting vinegar and oregano. He wrinkled his nose, but hesitantly took a bite anyway, finding a strong, pickle-y sort of flavor. He liked the next bite better, with a bit of carrot and onion. “Wha’s this stuff, lass?” he asked, poking the small pile with his fork. 

Jemma grinned around a forkful of her own food, and chewed and swallowed before answering. “Sottaceti,” she explained, maneuvering a bit of zucchini onto her fork, “pickled vegetables, Italian-style. Some people like to serve it with salad, but I think it’s quite nice all by itself.” She couldn’t help but smile as Fitz pulled a tiny face and tried another bite of the sottaceti. It was a frequent habit of his, to grimace a bit while trying something new, only to decide he liked it and devour it at a later date. 

After that, the meal continued the same way all the other meals they’d shared together had. They chatted about the food, their plans for the week, what would or would not be worth watching in their limited spare time… all the little inane things best friends discuss. It carried all the way through them cleaning up her kitchen and packing away the leftovers. 

It all felt so blessedly normal, but also not between them, with the heated memory of Fitz’ hands on her breasts and mouth on her neck as she squirmed beneath him, that Jemma wasn’t quite sure how she should be feeling. Relieved that they were able to go back to whatever they’d been before that night and her deadline? Disappointed that he seemed to be okay with letting them retreat? Anxious about what would become of them in eight weeks’ time when she had to stick to her convictions and keep him on a timetable? 

Those were the thoughts that were chasing themselves around her head as she set aside Fitz’ portion of the leftovers and wandered over to sit next to him on the sofa. Jemma knew that all she could do was wait out the time and hope for the best, but that certainly wouldn’t stop her from worrying herself silly in the interim. 

For his own part, Fitz was grateful that Jemma didn’t question his presence in her flat, only made accommodations for his presence. She was quiet though, once she’d packed up the leftovers and he’d finished cleaning the pans she’d used, and that worried him a bit. What was she thinking? 

It wasn’t that Fitz didn’t think about what had happened at the cottage, but he put it out of mind for the moment, drawing the line in the sand again between their friendship and anything more. It had blurred for a while there and he was happier with the clear delineation. Jemma’s deadline was reassuring and also made things easier for him in a way. Fitz was prone to procrastination if he didn’t have a timeline to do something, and it seemed this emotional tangle they’d gotten themselves into was included. A piece of him would be more than happy to continue letting Jemma meet all his emotional needs and turn to the random men at the club for the physical. Except by doing so he was making Jemma unhappy, and that was something Fitz couldn’t stand for. 

He’d pulled a book from his bag before sitting down, and Fitz looked up from it when Jemma dropped down next to him. Fitz wondered, not for the first time, when it had become natural to him to let her in when no one else was allowed, because his first instinct was to lift his arm and invite her closer. Resisting the urge, he gave her a little half-smile instead, one corner of his mouth twisting up. “Did y’ have anythin’ planned for this afternoon? I didna mean t’ disrupt your day.” 

“No, no plans, and you’re never a disruption.” Jemma was quick to reassure him, and returned his smile with one of her own before slouching back into the cushions. Her head fell back and she turned her head a bit to the side to look at him. “I just planned on sleeping and maybe cooking. And you helped with that. I’d meant to prepare some meals for the week, and thanks to you that’s handled.” She shifted a bit, edging away from Fitz so she could lean against the arm and back of the sofa, pulling her legs up between them. The position let her look at him as they spoke, and there was something she wanted his opinion on. 

“I spoke to Dr. Singh last night,” she began slowly, fingers picking at an imaginary bit of lint on the back of the sofa and voice dropping low. “My residency is coming to an end in a few months. He offered me a full position in A&E, or his recommendation for whichever job I want to apply for.” She risked meeting Fitz’ eyes and quickly looked away. Something about the steadiness of his gaze as she spoke made it that much more difficult to even begin trying to make up her mind. 

A deep furrow appeared between Fitz' brows as he watched her speak. Confused and concerned, he cocked his head curiously, "But tha's great, Jem. You've worked your arse off for Singh, takin' all those extra shifts. Why- why do y' seem so nervous about' him offerin' y' a job?"

He remembered the conversation they'd had months ago about her preferred specialty. Even though the idea of forensic medicine made him twitchy, if it was what Jemma wanted to do, he was for it. "Do y' think you'll take it, or look for somethin' else in forensics? Or have y' been thinkin' about some other specialty lately?"

Jemma shrugged and wrapped her arms more snuggly around herself, the very picture of insecurity. Fitz was right, she knew, and the fact that Dr. Singh was so willing to have her work for him was a very good thing indeed. Still, it was hard to accept that what had been meant to be a temporary stop might become a full time gig. 

“I dunno,” she finally admitted. “I mean, I like the work, and my coworkers are decent. They’re not incompetent or careless and they care about the patients… but I miss having normal hours. The problem with medicine is, there are no real normal hours. Just some types of practice that allow for slightly more stable ones.” Wrinkling her nose, Jemma shrugged at Fitz once more. “I suppose I’m just being spoiled, huh? There are plenty of people, plenty of doctors, looking for work…” Jemma trailed off, lip caught between her teeth as she lost herself in thought. 

“Maybe I should just say yes,” she declared after a few moments. “I mean, the salary bump would be nice. I’d even be able to afford my own place without needing help from my parents.” 

Fitz turned, pulling his knee up onto the couch to rest over her foot, up against her ankle, to face Jemma. She was unhappy, he could tell, but her explanation didn’t feel like something that would make her react this way. “Jem, if A&E is no’ where y’ want t’ be, then dinna take the job. Or take i’, but let Singh know you’re lookin’ for somethin’ in a certain area. He likes y’, I canna think tha’ he doesna have contacts who may have an openin’ in forensics, even if is at another hospital.” 

He eyed her worriedly. Fitz wasn’t used to Jemma being unsure about her career. She’d been so focused on her residency, even accepting such a long stint in A&E when other residents had long since been transferred out to other wards. It was a backhanded compliment of sorts, an acknowledgement that Singh and the other supervising doctors recognized she was dedicated and capable, but one that had also caused her no end of stress and worry for her patients. 

She’d laid her head on her knees, eyes distant, and Fitz tentatively brushed a lock of hair back from Jemma’s face, tucking it behind her ear, “The money’s no’ worth it if you’re unhappy, y’ know.” 

Her eyes fluttered shut at the gentle brush of Fitz’ fingers against her temple, Jemma’s head tilting automatically into his touch. He was right. She knew that much, knew she didn't want to work a job she was miserable in for the next four or five decades of her life, but she couldn’t stand the thought of just telling her supervisor no, either. Dr. Singh had been an excellent mentor, knowing when to push and when to leave her be, and Jemma hated the idea that she might come off as an ingrate. 

“You’re right,” she sighed, eyes still closed. “I just need to find a way to talk to him. See who he knows...” Her words tapered off, and Jemma forced herself to meet his concerned gaze. She inched toward him, wanted the reassurance of contact; she knew her thoughts were all over the place, and not all of them were logical. Fitz would be good at grounding her; he always had been, and she trusted he would now, too. 

“What if…” her voice was shaky with nerves, and Jemma sucked in a breath in an attempt to bring it under control, “What if there’s nothing here? My life is here in London, y--” Jemma cut off her words and looked down as she tried to will the sudden welling of tears away. They were foolish, irrational, she chided herself, but she couldn’t stop them from forming. 

“Everyone, everything that matters is here. I’m not sure I could just pick up and leave, but I don’t know if I could afford not to, either.” 

“Jemma, you’re bein’ silly, lass.” Fitz shook his head, smiling faintly even as he ran his hand gently over Jemma’s hair. “There mus’ be twenty hospitals in London, plus labs and other facilities. Y’ canna tell me tha’ no one is lookin’ for a doctor. Y’ might no’ find exactly what y’ want, but y’ could find somethin’ that suits y’ better than this. Or y’ could ask Singh if he’ll take y’ on until somethin’ comes open there a’ London Bridge an’ y’ transfer internally.” He laid it out for her logically, simple facts that she’d see easily for herself if she wasn’t so close to the issue. 

His smile wavered when her head turned back toward him and Fitz saw the gleam of tears in her eyes even in the dim light of the flat. “Hey, wha’s all this?” he started, but Jemma continued speaking, and he fell silent again to listen. “I dinna think you’ll have t’ leave London,” Fitz soothed, still stroking her hair and letting Jemma inch closer as she scooted across the cushions. “Y’ have a few months before a firm decision needs t’ be made. Look into your options. Go on some interviews if y’ need to. By the time your residency is over, you’ll have a plan an’ everythin’ will fall into place.” 

Jemma brought a hand up to scrub at her eyes in an attempt to banish her tears, nodding as Fitz’ words began to sink in. He was right. London was a world capital. The odds of her leaving were infinitesimally small. The worry, she realized as they sat there, Fitz soothing her as she slowly came back to herself, was leaving him. 

Fitz was what mattered to her. He was the first person she’d met that she knew she could say anything to without fear of judgment. They’d had their fights, their disagreements and growing pains, but they’d always come back together. With her scientific base, Jemma had always rolled her eyes at her younger sisters when they spoke of fate and destiny, but Fitz was making her believe it. They were meant to be together, one some level. 

She took a deep breath and gave him a smile, one that actually reached her eyes. “You’re right,” she agreed, “I know I’m being silly.” Her hand found his, and Jemma curled her fingers around his wrist, wanting to feel him near. “I’ll find something. It’s just…scary, I suppose is the best word.” Jemma huffed out a little laugh. “I’m nearly 25, and I’m scared of having to be a grown up. How odd is that?”

“I’m always righ’, remember?” Fitz grinned at her, relieved to see her smile even if it was still wobbly around the edge. It also made him feel better to know that Jemma, who seemed to have her entire life plotted out and purposed, sometimes felt at loose ends and unsure. “An’ y’ would be a fool t’ not worry about what you’re goin’ t’ do… if there’s one thing you’re no’, is foolish.” 

He twisted his wrist in her hold, turning his hand up and wrapping long fingers around her wrist in return, holding on firmly and giving a tug. “C’mere,” Fitz murmured, holding out his other arm. It got easier to initiate things as the months went on, and she looked like she needed a hug. 

The position they’d put themselves in, knees brushing as they faced each other on the sofa, made it awkward, but Jemma rose onto her knees and tucked into him, following the gentle tug of his hand on her wrist. She has no choice, really, but to put herself in Fitz’ lap, legs dangling over the edge and head tucked against his neck. He was warm and solid and steady against her, and in that moment, it was simply enough to soak it all in as he soothed her with his very presence. 

Fitz let her settle, pleased she'd so easily accepted his invitation. He wrapped his arms around her and settled in, chin propped on her shoulder. "It'll be okay, Jem," he murmured. "You're brillian'. Too brillian' t' no' end up exactly where y ' want. Singh knows tha' too. Probably why he made an offer so soon."

Her hand naturally found its way to his forearm, holding him in place as though she feared he’d pull away, despite his actions speaking to the exact opposite. Jemma sighed again, feeling more relaxed if not any less frustrated with herself. “I know you’re right, but it won’t stop me from worrying.” She pulled away briefly, just to press another kiss to his cheek before curling up against him once more. “Thank you, though, for listening. And for the advice. I’ll go speak to Dr. Singh about any openings he knows of… and pray he doesn’t think me an ingrate.” 

“Nah,” Fitz shook his head, letting Jemma settle as she wanted, ever conscious of feeling like he was making too freely with her body and affection. “He willna think you’re ungrateful. After all, he was a bright young resident himself, a’ some point, righ’?” Not that he was ever going to be great at reading people, but Fitz thought he’d gotten a fair reading on the older man when he’d gone to beg for Jemma’s time off so she could go with him on vacation. 

Singh had seemed firm but fair, reasonable when given a good explanation for something. Certainly he’d quickly agreed when Fitz pointed out Jemma’s dedication and work ethic and that someone needed to force her to take a break when she wouldn’t give herself one. 

Jemma ducked her head at Fitz’ subtle compliment, blushing at the very concept that she could ever be on par with her supervisor. “I’m not sure about that. I have an awfully long way to go,” she whispered into his chest, settling in further and even going so far as to tug her throw blanket off the back of the sofa to cover her legs. 

She held there for a few minutes, just enjoying the silence and being this near to Fitz, before breaking the silence. “We have a few hours before I have to report to the hospital again. How about a movie? Or do you have something you wanted to work on?” Jemma eyed the book he’d set to the side, wanting his attention but not wanting to appear overly needy, either. 

“No, no’ really,” Fitz replied, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. “I was bored a’ home an’ wanted company, tha’s all.” It was unusual for him, really. Fitz had never been one to seek out people, preferring his time alone at home in solitude and even isolation, but Jemma hadn’t felt like ‘people’ in a long while now. She was just Jemma, the one person who seemed to be able to break all his rules about friends and relationships and wriggle past all the prickly walls Fitz presented to the world. 

For him to admit that being with her was preferable to being on his own… It felt big to him, even though it probably wasn’t, in the grand scheme of things. Besides, Jemma probably already knew, without him saying anything. She usually did. 

Fitz’ fingers caught at her blanket, loosening the fold that had caught against her legs so the trailing edge covered Jemma’s feet properly. “Is there somethin’ in particular y’ want t’ do?” 

Jemma didn’t miss what Fitz had said, or exactly how momentous it was for him. Six months ago, even after the start of their friendship, if he had said the same thing, she would have asked if he’d been dosed with something. Leo Fitz was not an overly affectionate person, to say the least; the fact that he had held out his arms to her, allowed her into his lap, and now was holding her there, palms warm where they rested against her arm and calf, was still a marvel to her, even after all this time. 

“Not really,” she said with a small smile, amused by how they were echoing each other, her head lolling against him. “Just staying in, relaxing.” Jemma resisted the urge to add with you to the end of her statement, trusting that Fitz would know he was the one she’d want to spend time with more than anyone else. Besides, she had taken care of all the little household chores she would typically handle in her afternoons off, so there was nothing to prevent her from curling up with him until she had to go to work, if he’d allow it.


	25. Chapter 25

Luckily for Jemma, he did allow it, and she spent the last four hours before she had to leave for work curled up with him on the sofa. He did eventually shift her off of his lap, but allowed her to tuck into his side as they worked their way through a few old episodes of Doctor Who before she had to get ready. After she’d slipped back into a clean pair of scrubs and he had gathered all of his things, Jemma walked Fitz out of her apartment and down to the street. She knew they’d only been back for a little while, but what he had promised her on the train was tugging at the back of her mind. 

“Fitz,” she began as they slowly made their way toward the train, “you will keep your appointment, right?” Jemma didn’t bother mentioning which appointment, trusting him to know exactly what it was she was talking about. 

Something that was still strung tight in Fitz’ chest loosened when she agreed to let him stay, and by the time Jemma had to leave for work he was about as relaxed as he ever got. She’d curled her hand around his elbow as they walked, sticking close to his side, and Fitz blinked at her question when she finally spoke up. Jemma had been very good about not asking about Dr. Thornton, even from back at the beginning of their friendship. Whether that was the doctor’s understanding of the need for confidentiality or Jemma’s understanding of his need for privacy, he didn’t know, but Fitz had always appreciated it. 

Oddly, he appreciated her pushing now, too. He needed to go back and he knew it. 

“Yeah, I’m goin’ t’ go back,” he replied as they turned to head down the steps into the Bayswater station. “I’ve still got too many things t’ work through, I guess.” Part of him was unhappy that he couldn’t get through things on his own - Fitz’ sense of independence still chafed at needing therapy in the first place - and he winced when he realized he could hear it in his tone. 

Fitz’ pained expression didn’t go unnoticed, tugging at Jemma’s heart as they made their way to the train platform. Using her grip on his arm, Jemma gently pulled him to the side and tucked herself against him, arms around his slight waist and head resting against his chest. She held there for a moment, wanting to give Fitz a bit of physical reassurance, before she whispered, “There’s no shame in admitting you need to go in, Fitz. It just means you’re strong enough to recognize that going it alone wouldn’t be helpful.”

She gave them another moment before nudging him in the general direction of the train, her hand slipping down his arm to tangle with his as she did so. They stayed that way, contemplative and silent even as they rode the Central Line, shoulders pressed against each other and staring out the opposite window. Jemma wondered, not for the first time, if there wasn’t more she could be doing for him, but rejected the thought nearly immediately. Fitz was simply too independent to tolerate anything that he might view as coddling. 

Before long, their train pulled into Bank station, and Jemma followed him out of the carriage and toward their respective connections. When he turned to say goodbye, she beat him to the punch, pressing up onto her toes a bit to brush a quick kiss across his lips. “It’ll all work out. You’ll see,” she reassured him as she dropped back to her normal height. She waited for Fitz to nod, and although his half-smile as he bid her farewell did nothing to actually reassure her, Jemma forced her feet to carry her in the direction of her next platform. 

~*~

Dr. Thornton had always been good at digging into the undertones of things Fitz said. That’s what made her a good therapist and why he’d stuck with her for so long. And why he’d come back. 

Fitz pulled his legs up onto her couch, his knees tucked against his chest. He knew as well as she did that it was a defensive posture, one he turned to when she’d found a soft spot and an issue that he wasn’t ready to discuss. “I- I don’ know,” he muttered, “She’s jus’... I’m comfortable with Jemma. An’ I trust her. She doesna expec’ things of me.” 

Tilting her head, the older woman eyed Fitz shrewdly. “Have you considered that outside of Jemma, you don’t really trust anyone? Especially the men you involve yourself with?” 

“Well… yeah. But people are assholes,” Fitz shrugged. “An’ most of them have an agenda. Is no’ tha’ anyone wants t’ just be my friend, y’ know?” He hadn’t started out cynical, but his experiences with his family and at school as a pre-teen had sent him down that path with no real way back. “Jemma was differen’ from the start. An’ she trusted me firs’, when she had no real reason to. I- I can’ do tha’.” 

“We’re almost out of time for today, Fitz,” Thornton said, nodding at the clock, “But I want you to think on this. You’ve indicated that you don’t trust people in general, but your earlier comments indicate that you trust your sex partners even less. Why is that? We’ll start there the next time you come in.” 

She slid forward on her chair, a short, somewhat pudgy woman in a deep red business suit, who still managed to be no nonsense and straightforward. Fitz had always liked that about her. She looked like someone’s mother but spoke to him as an adult and capable of thinking for himself. It wasn’t Dr. Thornton’s fault he’d taken off like he did. If anything, she’d pegged the situation exactly as it was and Fitz simply hadn’t been ready to face it. 

Now he was. He had a deadline to meet and the last thing he wanted to do was drag Jemma down with him because he couldn’t get his head on straight. That alone was enough to make him work. 

Fitz couldn’t help the twist of his mouth as he realized the pun he’d inadvertently made. Still, he gave Dr. Thornton a wan smile and got to his feet to head back out into the city and uptown to his little flat. The double sessions she’d been roping him into left him raw and hollowed out, but they were helping. Making him think. Pushing out of his comfort zone. 

The ride back to Highgate was crowded and noisy, Fitz’ nerves on edge and practically vibrating as he navigated the bus and Underground train, and he barely managed to drop his bag and toe off his shoes before collapsing face down on his couch in the silence, dim light and coolness of his little flat. 

~*~

It took three days of not hearing from Fitz to spur Jemma into action. 

It would have taken less time, if she hadn’t been busy at the hospital and distracted by her mother, who seemed oddly upset that she had turned down Dr. Singh’s offer to stay in A&E. Unlike her advisor, who had taken the announcement that she’d like to pursue a career in forensic pathology rather well, giving her a pleased smile and promising to see what he could do to help her, her mother had protested. It wasn’t decent, she said, to have her daughter poking about in dead bodies and associating with the kind of people who wound up working homicide cases. What would her friends think? And even worse, what would any men interested in dating her think?

Jemma had rolled her eyes and bit her lip, willing herself to not snap at her mother. Vivian Simmons was merely a product of her upbringing, and while she had indulged her daughter’s whim to have a career of her own, she ultimately expected her to settle down and let some nice, well-connected, moneyed boy care for her. 

That conversation had been the last straw, and so, when her shift was over, Jemma ran home, showered and changed before gathering a few simple groceries into a reusable bag. Checking to make sure she had what she needed to make a light lunch, she rushed back out the door and over to Fitz’ flat. 

She let herself in with her key, frowning a bit when she realized how still it was. Despite being well past the time he was usually up (provided he hadn’t gone out the night before), his space was dark and still. It occurred to Jemma then that he might have gone out, given that his project was on hold at the moment, and her gut sank to her ankles. What if he had gone out and gone home with someone last night? Or, what if he’d brought them back here? Steeling herself, she called out, hoping it would be enough to wake her friend. 

“Fitz? Fitz, are you home?” She shut the door behind her and set her keys on the hallway table, purposely rattling them as much as she could so as to announce her presence. “I brought over the ingredients for kebabs, if you’re in the mood.” 

He was still in bed. Not sleeping, not hung over, not exhausted from a night out, but rather curled under his covers, a pillow hugged to his chest, mind circling through things from his hour and a half with Dr. Thornton. She’d given him a lot to think about. Perhaps too much, but so much had happened between his last visit and this one, and Fitz had opened up more this time around.

Not only was there his homework about his trust levels with different people, but she’d commented on his fears about Jemma leaving him, and about how his complicated feelings about his father related to his feelings about men in general. The suggestion that he might not trust men - especially in such a vulnerable state as you had to be during sex - because of his father’s abuse seemed so blatantly obvious Fitz didn’t know how he’d missed it before. There’d been more, and it was all in a messy tangle that he was still sorting through, picking at loose threads and trying to unravel the knot of his emotional state. 

It was probably for the best that he didn’t have anything to work on right now, because even when he was up and moving about, he was terribly distracted and likely a danger to himself. Fitz had given up on cooking, something he’d never been good at to start with, when he’d burned his fingertips grabbing for a pan and catching the bowl rather than the handle. Besides, he was mentally stressed. It was the only time other than being seriously ill when his stomach refused food. 

It roiled uncomfortably at Jemma’s mention of kebabs. Or that might have been the knot that instantly formed, hearing her come in and knowing he’d need to interact with her when his mind was in this state. Still, it was Jemma. He couldn’t shove at her like he could anyone else. “‘M in here,” he called out after a beat of total silence in the flat. “Shouldn’t y’ be at home, sleepin’?”

Fitz’ voice sounded odd, not quite flat, but definitely off, causing Jemma’s head to tilt automatically in an attempt to place what, exactly, was wrong. “One second,” she softly called back, slipping off her shoes and carrying the groceries into the kitchen. Once she stored the beef and vegetables in their proper spots, she padded down the hall and into his bedroom, wondering what she would find. 

The room was dark and still as well. He had drawn his light-blocking shades, so the only indication of where he was in bed came from the bit of light from the hall that managed to bend around Jemma. She tilted her head a moment, considering him, before she slipped between him and the wall. She made sure there were a few inches of space between them, and with her eyes adjusting to the dim light, Jemma could see that Fitz’ eyes were duller than usual, and his expression, despite his clear attempt to control it, gave away his distress. She was tempted to ask why, to give in to the instinct to root out the problem he was facing and fix it, but she forced down the impulse. Pushing him wouldn’t get them anywhere. 

So instead, Jemma opted for something innocuous. 

“I took your advice,” she began, voice soft and even. “I told Singh that I was honored he thought of me, but I’m really interested in forensic pathology. He promised he’d keep me on and help me see what’s out there.” She gave him a small smile and ducked a bit closer. “It was good advice, so thank you. Also,” she paused, waiting for Fitz to focus his attention on her, “it had the added benefit of irking my mother. Putting Vivian off her game is always entertaining, so long as I’m at a suitable distance to avoid her wrath.” 

At first Fitz was torn between wanting company and wanting his solitude, but as Jemma crawled onto the bed with him, his choice solidified. He’d likely never understand how this one woman had slid through all the chinks in his walls and made herself at home in his life to such a point. Even now, when his depression and anxiety was riding him, confused and generally unhappy, Jemma’s presence gave him a measure of peace. There was one person in the world who accepted him just as he was, good and bad. It was comforting, to say the least. 

Even as Fitz braced for questions, seeing the look of concern flash over her face, Jemma just as clearly rejected her instincts and chose to fill him in on what he’d missed the past few days. Grateful for that, Fitz forced himself to focus on her, and then to smile wanly at her quip about her mother. “Careful, lass,” he said quietly. “Y’ dinna want t’ upset her enough tha’ she shows up on your doorstep.” With Jemma’s parents, it was a distinct possibility. “An’ y’ didna answer my question.” 

The smile was a weak one, but it was a smile nonetheless, and it bolstered Jemma’s courage. “Hopefully Addy’s keeping her busy enough back home that she can’t drop everything and pop in here.” She grinned back at him and scooted a slight inch closer. She wasn’t sure it was the right thing, but she hoped that would help give him something resembling a feeling of normalcy. 

“As for sleep,” she conceded, returning to his initial question, “it can wait.” She gave a half shrug as she watched his face. Something about it seemed disbelieving, as if he still, after all these months, couldn’t believe she was there, with him. For her part, she couldn’t imagine anywhere else she’d rather be, but saying that to him was difficult; she worried it would frighten him too badly. 

“Honestly, Fitz,” Jemma answered, allowing her eyes to flutter shut a moment, a small concession to her weariness before opening again to look at him, “I just hadn’t heard from you in a while. I wanted to see you. Besides,” she continued with a grin, “you seem to have a perfectly good bed here I could use.” 

Fitz didn’t really want to talk, not beyond superficial conversation about whatever Jemma wanted to bring up. Pretty much anything to avoid delving into his headspace at the moment. Latching on to her suggestion, and the visible signs that she hadn’t slept after her shift, he made a vague gesture toward the blankets. “Y’ can stay if y’ want,” he offered. 

He wanted to say more, apologize for being out of touch, maybe, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he ducked his head, avoiding Jemma’s gaze. “Y’ should sleep, lass. Y’ have t’ work again tonigh’, yeah?” 

The way he avoided her eyes hurt, but Jemma didn’t push. He didn’t need her to push now, at least she didn’t think he did. She just needed him to be there. So, she opted to do just that, grinning through a rather wide yawn and working her way beneath the covers. 

It was graceless, but eventually she settled beside him once more. “No, no work tonight,” she replied, jaw practically cracking on the next yawn. “All I have on the agenda for tonight is some housework, but it’s nothing that can’t wait.” She looked at him, and although Fitz still wouldn’t meet her eyes, allowed her gaze to linger for a few moments before shutting her eyes and settling into a pillow. “I’m yours for as long as you want me.”

Given everything else in his head, centered around his past and how it tied into his present, including his relationship with her and the pieces of it that were still so unstable, Jemma’s comment stung. And while Fitz wished he could say he’d want her to stay forever, the voice in the back of his mind was whispering ‘no one ever stays forever’. Not even his parents, who should have loved him unconditionally. How could he promise Jemma anything when he couldn’t be sure he meant it for good and not just for now?

Fitz bit his lip hard, his breath a sharp inhale through his nose. He did the best he could, but he wasn’t sure his words would be reassuring to Jemma or not - if he was even capable of reassuring her fears when he was wrangling his own. “Nonsense. Go t’ sleep, Jemma.” 

Jemma followed Fitz’ suggestion, although it took her a good few minutes to drift off. She was hounded by her concerns for her friend. She knew that being back in therapy was the best thing for him, but it was clearly doing a number on him at the same time. Despite realizing that sometimes someone needed to be broken down before they could be built back up, it took a nearly monumental effort to resist intervening. 

In truth, the only thing that made it manageable was the thought that she was simply being selfish where Fitz was concerned, wanting his time and attention and affection for herself. As base as it was, Jemma did fear that he would wake up one day feeling that his attraction to her was foolish and would begin pushing her away. But, if that what was best for Fitz… she’d go along with it, even if it hurt her. 

~*~

Fitz fidgeted as he waited at a small cafe in Islington. He’d gone out of his comfort zone at Dr. Thornton’s recommendation, trying his best to do all the things she’d suggested before making his decision about Jemma. One of those things had been to date other people. Male people. And in considering that, Fitz had gotten stuck thinking about his last (disastrous) “date” with Anthony. It had all gone so wrong, and Fitz knew much of it had been because they hadn’t really known each other and he’d failed to communicate his discomfort with going out with a group of strangers. 

And so he’d gathered his wits about him and contacted the other man to ask him out for dinner. Not that Fitz had expectations that this was a date, but he wanted to clear the air at the very least. 

Glancing at the clock on his phone, Fitz sighed. It was 15 minutes past the time they’d agreed to meet and he was wondering if the other man was going to show at all. 

Anthony rushed through the doors of the cafe, half out of breath and flushed. He paused just inside and glanced around, searching for a man he’d never expected to hear from again, not with what a disaster the last time had been. Leo Fitz was cute and smart, but his reaction to going out with a group of his friends had been more than a little off putting. Still, while he’d been surprised to hear from him, something in his tone hadn’t allowed Anthony to turn him down, so he agreed to a casual dinner. 

He spotted him in a corner booth, scowling at his phone, and quickly made his way over. “I’m sorry,” he blurted as he slid into the seat across from Fitz. “I had a last minute session with a client I couldn’t get out of.” He waited a beat, considering the younger man, before deciding to be blunt. “I have to say, I was surprised to hear from you.”

“I was surprised y’ said yes, so I guess we’re probably even,” Fitz acknowledged, after a brief startle when the other man appeared across the table for him. The tall, dark-haired and green-eyed man had met many of Fitz physical ideals, even if he wasn’t the sort who stuck to one type of partner, and Fitz had a moment of regret that he’d never have a shot with him again. Realistically though, he needed someone like Anthony as a friend. Someone who would call him on bullshit that Jemma wouldn’t unless he pushed her to the end of her (extensive) wits. 

Feeling awkward and fairly certain it showed, Fitz shrugged a shoulder. “I havena seen y’ around for a while. How’ve y’ been?” 

“Busy,” Anthony replied, leaning back and gauging Fitz’ reaction. He seemed nervous, more so than he’d ever seen him before, although he wasn’t sure why that was. “I picked up more clients at work, so I haven’t had much time to go out.” He was interrupted by the waitress, and once he had ordered an IPA and waited for Fitz to place his own, continued. “Yourself? Have you been going out much?”

“No’ as much as I used to,” Fitz admitted. “Jemma’s gotten in the habit of goin’ out now an’ then when she’s no’ on shift, bu’ is usually on weekdays. I got caught up finishin’ the first part o’ my master’s project an’ didna really have time for a while there.” When he did go out, he tended to not be there too long. If he wanted to pick someone up, he made his choice and proposition early rather than waiting til the wee hours of the morning. 

Anthony felt his eyebrows lift at Fitz’ mention of the name Jemma, but held his tongue. If he mentioned her again, he would say something. “The first part? I didn’t realize those were multi-step deals, but that’s exciting. Congratulations.” 

He smiled at the server as she set down their drinks, and took a pull from his bottle. “So, is that what this is, then? You’re at loose ends since your project is done and you’re looking for something to do?”

Fitz had gotten into the habit of not discussing his projects with people once he realized that no matter what he said it somehow came off as condescending, and he fought that urge now. “Well, is no’, usually. Bu’ I came up with a design an’ the people who gave me the grant t’ work on it want t’ try an’ actually produce it. So hopefully I’ll have more work on i’ in the future.” 

“An’ no… No,” he said to Anthony’s last comment, making a face as he fidgeted with his own bottle, fingers restless. Fitz wasn’t even sure Anthony would accept an apology, but had hope, since the other man had accepted this invitation. “I didna call y’ because I’m bored. I- well… There’s been a lot tha’s happened in the pas’ few months an’ I’m tryin’ t’ make some things righ’. I was an ass tha’ last time I saw y’, an’ I owe y’ an apology.” 

“You were an ass,” Anthony agreed with a slight nod, and took another sip of his ale. “And I accept, although we need to work on your form.” Fitz gave him a puzzled look, and the trainer caught his lower lip in his teeth, resisting the urge to chuckle. He somehow didn’t think it’d be taken kindly. 

“When it comes to apologizing, I mean.” He looked him up and down as best he could from across the table, eyes lingering on his shoulders and chest and a rather cheeky grin working its way across his mouth. “The rest of you is perfectly fine, from what I remember.”

Fitz stilled, completely startled by Anthony’s easygoing, half-teasing reaction and simply stared for a few moments, blue eyes blinking owlishly. A tinge of pink flushed over his cheekbones, easily visible on his fair skin. “I, ah, well…” he stammered and cleared his throat, trying to bring the conversation back on track - or at least to a place he was comfortable with. One of the problems he’d had in interacting with Anthony was that once he wasn’t in the club, the flirtatious, confident persona he put on there didn’t hold up. “I dinna usually apologize t’ people so is no’ like I’ve much practice.” 

He felt bad, but Anthony couldn’t help but chuckle at Fitz’ discomfort. It wasn’t that he didn’t sympathize with the man, but it was somehow oddly adorable that the guy he’d first met, the one who had practically oozed confidence, could be so flustered by a simple comment and look. Seeing that his laughter hadn’t helped any, he cut it off and explained himself. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Anthony sat forward, elbows on the table and posture relaxed as he toyed with his beer bottle a bit. Fitz still looked ill at ease, though, so he decided to make it clear what his expectations of the evening were. “Look, Fitz, yes, I think you’re attractive, but that’s as far as this goes.” He paused, trying to read his dinner partner’s face before he explained further. “After last time, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” He resisted the urge to add that he didn’t quite think Fitz was able to focus his attention on him freely, at that. The man was already clearly flustered; he didn’t need Anthony adding to what was an already uncomfortable situation. 

“I wasna intendin’ t’ try for anythin’,” Fitz said immediately. “I was surprised y’ even agreed t’ meet up with me for this,” he added motioning to the table and the pair of beer bottles on front of them. 

He fell quiet again, but it was a mix of awkward silence and thoughtfulness, debating what, if anything, else he should say. Eventually Fitz settled on honesty, steeling himself to level with someone besides Jemma. “Y’ said something tha’ morning… Tha’ y’ couldna figure out which one is the real me, because I kep’ changing on y’,” Fitz said slowly, clearly hesitant, fumbling a bit as he tried to explain. “The guy from the club is no’ me. We’re all out t’ have a good time, so i’ doesna really matter, yeah?” 

Taking a long drink, he used the beer to fight the sudden dryness in his mouth. “What y’ saw the nex’ morning… Tha’ was me. I’m no’... no’ really good with people. Especially socializing with strangers an’ actually holdin’ real conversations. This - jus’ one person - is better, bu’ is still no easy.” 

The grin dropped from Anthony’s mouth as Fitz spoke. He had already gathered what Fitz had told him; that the other man had difficulty with new groups of people, but refrained from saying as much. It just seemed important that he get it off his chest in his own time. 

“To be honest, you hide it well. You’d never know it from watching you at the club, or even with that friend of yours.” He gestured toward him with the bottle before finishing the rest of his IPA. “Jemma, right?”

To his credit, Fitz looked shamefaced. "Yeah, well, is easier when y' dinna expect t' ever see someone again outside the club," he said, feeling embarrassed. Even though there had always been a tacit understanding about it just being fucking and not the start of anything, it sounded so crass said aloud. "An' Jemma is Jemma. She knows me better than anyone."

"She'd been fussin' at me about givin' someone a chance an' I liked y', bu'... I’ never would have worked, especially no' when y' thought y' were gettin' a much different guy. No' me, a' least." There was a thick knot of nerves in his stomach from awkwardness and general discomfort. Fitz was making himself emotionally vulnerable whether Anthony realized it or not. 

It was probably weird for him to just blurt all this out, but he was terrible at conversation on a good day, much less when he had something on his mind. At least if Anthony got mad or this generally didn't go well, Fitz would have gotten out what he needed to say, and so he made his real apology. "So, I'm sorry. I made a mess o' things. I shouldna have stayed, or at least told y' I didna want t' go t' brunch. Y’ were right t’ call me ou’ for it. I jus’... I’m sorry."

Anthony nodded slowly as Fitz spoke, feeling for the other man. “I certainly didn’t make it easy, throwing you into brunch with my friends like that. That wasn’t fair of me to do.” He paused a beat, waiting for the fidgeting grad student to meet his eyes. “I mean it, Fitz, I accept your apology. There’s no need to beat yourself up over what happened ages ago.” 

Fitz finally looked up, blue eyes meeting Anthony’s green ones, and blushed again. “That- that was easier than I expected it t’ be,” he blurted out. And it was true. He’d expected Anthony to be angry. At least resistant to listening, or mocking and critical at worst. It seemed he’d seriously underestimated the man, which in a way, shouldn’t surprise Fitz at all. He was terrible with people to say the least. Jemma was a much better judge of character and she’d liked Anthony from that first moment she’d run into him at his flat. 

Anthony’s brows knit together above his head, confusion plain in his emerald eyes. “How difficult did you expect me to be? Where I’m from, a man apologizes and means it, you accept. Particularly considering that what you did wasn’t all that heinous, why wouldn’t I accept your apology?” 

He signaled the waitress over and ordered another round of drinks, along with dinner, before turning back to Fitz. “I’m rather easy going. I think you’d know that about me, if we’d met outside of the club.” 

“Pas’ history of dealin’ with people,” Fitz muttered. He was muddling his way through this interaction, and still felt he was botching it all up. Grateful for the waitress’ interruption, he placed his own dinner order and polished off what was left in his bottle. “An’ isn’ that the poin’? Tha’ I dinna know y’ at all? I’ve no idea how y’ would react t’ pretty much anything. Excep’ having some pissant Scot bein’ rude t’ your friends a’ brunch.” 

Fitz got a sudden flash of the reactions he did know he could draw from Anthony, a rather vivid memory of moans and slick skin and arched back that he forcibly shoved out of his mind. That wasn’t where his mind needed to be. Not here and now, and not with this person. 

He cocked his head and shrugged a bit. “I like people with a bit of piss and vinegar.” For Anthony, that was all the explanation he was willing to give, although his mind had caught on something else. “Hook ups have their place, true,” he conceded, shifting in his seat, “but that’s not all there is. There’s something to be said for being able to have a conversation, or to just lay in bed together and have no expectation of anything other than being together.”

For the first time in a long while, Anthony felt himself blush. Given his build and general demeanor, most people wouldn’t expect him to say such a thing. “Call me a sap, if you want, but I think that’s far more worthwhile.” 

“I wouldna know,” Fitz admitted with a shrug. “I dinna have anyone I’m really close to excep’ Jemma.” Except he did, now. He hadn’t before, but his friendship with Jemma had taught him the value of curling up with someone and enjoying the quiet. That it was okay to be touched sometimes, by someone you trusted not to hurt you, and return that feeling. Fitz suddenly wondered if Dr. Thornton had been right, that he was latching onto the one and only person he’d ever had who had offered Fitz more than she’d taken from him. Yet, his mind immediately retorted, why was there anything wrong with that? 

He had to set the thought aside to puzzle through later, returning his attention to Anthony and their conversation. “I dinna think is sappy. I canna imagine people wantin’ t’ be in a relationship if there wasna more t’ enjoy than jus’ sex.” 

“To be fair,” Anthony quickly retorted, “have you ever bothered to try for more than that?” He lifted his brow at Fitz and reached for the fresh ale that had just been set before him. “If not, how could you ever know if there was more to enjoy than just sex? You have to give someone an honest chance.” He kept his eyes on Fitz, refusing to say what he was thinking, that perhaps there could have been more between them if Fitz had given them even a smidglet of a chance. 

“Ahhh, no. No, I haven’,” Fitz said slowly. “Again with the no’ dealin’ well with people thing.” Being abused by your own parents was a quick route to being wary of anyone getting too close. “I dinna even have many close friends, really. Is… complicated.” He didn’t want Anthony to pity him - Fitz would bristle at that, anyway - but Fitz really had no idea how to indicate that he wanted to try and be friends. 

Anthony felt a tad conflicted. 

On one hand, he had no real need to befriend anyone new, particularly not someone he hadn’t thought he’d ever hear from again. While he had written off the brunch incident all those months ago as a mere bad date, something to laugh about later on when he and his friends shared stories about the unusual people they’d happened to let into their beds. 

On the other… the Scot was sincere. And Anthony saw something in him that reminded him of his own youth. He hadn’t always been comfortable in his own skin either, and the way Fitz eyed him, clearly expecting him to reject his olive branch, tugged at his gut. For all he knew, the other man would turn around and snap at him for daring to say what he was thinking, but he also knew he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least make an overture. 

“There’s a coffee shop across the street from the gym where I work. If you wanted, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a cup every so often. Catch up and the like.” He said it with a nonchalant shrug. As awkward as it could be to be friends with someone who had seen you in the throes of passion, Anthony was willing to at least try. 

Fitz gave Anthony a tentative smile - the first since he’d sat down - and nodded. “I’d like tha’.”


	26. Chapter 26

That night, perhaps thanks to Anthony’s question about him going out and the realization that he hadn’t been keeping up with his usual activities, Fitz went out to the club. One of the things he found comforting about it was that even when the faces were different, everything else about it was the same. The music, the lights, the crowd, the alcohol. The same buzzy feeling from his three shots mingled with anticipation and a sense of freedom. 

One of the bears caught onto him on the dance floor and Fitz, pleased, fell into his old habit of imitating things he’d seen on TV, flirting and talking about nothing, the interaction infinitely easier than talking to someone randomly. It was reassuring in a way, even if he couldn’t imitate the same things in the rest of his life. He’d tried, of course, and it had failed miserably until he’d met Jemma that fateful night. 

He thought his partner might be blonde. The older guy had lighter brows, but his hair was cropped so short it was hard to tell. Between the hair and the demeanor and the build - he’d manhandled Fitz a little, dragging him in to dance - Fitz was pretty sure he was military, and very definitely American, with that accent. And he could certainly move. Fitz opened his mouth to speak, already ready and willing to invite the man back to his flat, when lips met his and he was drawn into a snog. 

Jemma shifted in her too-tall heels at the bar, trying to get the too-short skirt of her dress to provide at least a little more coverage. Not for the first time that evening, it occurred to her that going out without Fitz had been poorly conceived; she simply wasn’t in the mood for the broad smiles and wandering eyes (and more than a few hands) that were offered to her. With a sigh, she turned toward the dance floor, and leaning against the bar to alleviate some of the tension in her arches, surveyed the crowd. 

She wasn’t even supposed to be here. But when Bianca had called, begging her to pick up her shift on Sunday in exchange for her working tonight, Jemma had relented. She was so used to the odd schedule by now that what days of the week she worked mattered very little, and so she had been happy to stay home and have a relaxing evening. However, once she’d tried to settle in, a restless feeling overcame her. She had thought to get a hold of Fitz, and had tried texting him a few times, but when he didn’t answer, Jemma resolved herself to having a good time on her own. If Fitz could do it, why couldn’t she?

So, she had slipped into a dress, red this time, had put up her hair, done her make up, and stepped into a pair of heels before hailing a cab and going to one of the clubs Fitz had taken her to after the incident with William. But now that she was here, she found she was simply bored. Again. 

Disappointed, Jemma lifted her glass to her lips, intent on finishing her vodka tonic and making her way home when she spotted him. Fitz’ familiar lanky build and messy curls were nearly obscured by the man he was with, but it was undoubtedly him with his eyes closed as he kissed the stranger. She felt something uncomfortably close to jealousy lance through her chest, and Jemma had to set her teeth sharply into her lower lip to keep tears from forming.

She knew how it felt to kiss him, to be wrapped in those surprisingly strong arms as he plundered her mouth, and there, at the bar, despite the looks other men were throwing her way, she wanted nothing more than to feel that again in the here and now. Yet… he looked happy, dancing and laughing and snogging whoever it was he was with. Did she really want to ruin that?

Yes, she did. 

Moving quickly before she could change her mind, Jemma slammed back the rest of her drink, set the now-empty glass on the counter beside her, and strode over to where Fitz was wrapped up in the stranger’s arms. 

Fitz was entirely focused on his partner and it wasn’t until Jemma’s voice sounded in his ear that he glanced over. He’d thought she was working tonight, or he’d have likely had plans with her, so her finding him here was bad enough. But when his eyes swept down over her, once and then a second time, they went wide and stunned. “Jemma?” 

He trailed along after her when she drew him away, calling back over his shoulder to his dance partner, “I’ll be righ’ back!” and hoping he wasn’t lying. Jemma didn’t look upset, but if there was something wrong he’d leave with her and not even look back. No, Fitz thought to himself, he didn’t think he’d be looking anywhere but at her. Or growling at anyone ogling her. When the hell had she gotten that dress? It wasn’t one of the ones he’d suggested for her. 

She led him back to a dim, (comparatively) quiet corner of the club, and he slowed, curious. “What are y’ doin’ here, Jem?” 

She glanced him over, hazel eyes darting across the features she knew so well. His breathing had gone shallow, and Jemma hadn’t missed how his eyes had darkened as he looked her over, either. Fitz apparently liked the dress. 

That pleased her, and with a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, she planted a hand on his chest and allowed her eyes to light on his lips, pushed him back into the nearest wall. “Shut up,” she commanded, just loud enough for Fitz to hear, before pressing up against him and slanting her lips across his. 

Tonight she took what she wanted. Before she’d been content to let Fitz lead, to meet each brush of his lips, but now she insisted. She allowed her tongue to swipe across his lower lip, drawing a gasp that she quickly took advantage of. Jemma felt no compunction as she plundered his mouth, and in fact delighted in the little sounds he was making low in his throat. She wanted more of him, and so allowed her hands to drift from where they’d been fisted in the material of his shirt down to his hips. Her fingers easily found his belt loops, and once she had a grip on him, Jemma used it to haul his hips flush against her own. 

Caught by surprise at Jemma’s words and behavior, Fitz wasn’t entirely in control of his actions. He was male and already half aroused from dancing with that guy - having Jemma grind up against him like that unexpectedly was just enough to prompt a very ungentlemanly groan and a roll of his hips as his fingers caught hold of her hips. Torn between holding her close against him and holding her still, Fitz tipped his head up and back against the wall, breathing heavily when he broke from her mouth and their kiss. 

“Jesus, Jem,” he muttered, aroused, but still unwilling to take it any further when he wasn’t sure of himself - or of her. She’d asked for time and space and given him a deadline and Fitz had every intent of using it. Especially when he had his homework from Dr. Thornton - dating men - to complete, too. 

He made a rather pretty picture, with his head tipped back against the wall and his fingers digging into her hips, and Jemma found her eyes drawn to the jump of his carotid artery. She was momentarily tempted to lick and nibble at it, wondering what other fun sounds she could tempt out of him. 

But then she caught his eye, his blue gaze impossibly dark, both due to lust and the nearly non-existent lighting. Dark, and conflicted. Jemma came to her senses and, releasing her grip on his hips, slid her hands along his forearms to find his own. Squeezing gently, she took Fitz’ hands from her before leaning in to whisper, “I’m waiting on you. Only you.” She gave him a small, tight smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “One month, Fitz.”

With that, before she could change her mind or he could see her sorrow, Jemma made a quick about face and hurried out of the darkened club. 

Fitz caught something in her expression, but she was gone before he had a chance to figure it out and he was just drunk enough to miss her arm when he grabbed for her. Jemma disappeared into the crowd, her words echoing in his ears, and Fitz sucked in a breath. He knew she was waiting for him to make up his mind, and he wished she wouldn’t. Knowing she was alone when she deserved to have someone to love on, while he was out playing, was a stone in his gut - thick, heavy pressure that he’d never been more aware of. 

Yet he returned to the dance floor to find his new ‘friend’ thankfully still there, and still alone. Fitz slid back into the space in front of the other man, flashing him a falsely bright grin that only Jemma would have seen through. And when he led Jake (or was it Jack? Fitz wasn’t sure) into his flat in the wee hours, Fitz had other things on his mind. 

~*~

It occurred to him a couple weeks later, sitting across from Jemma at a table at a South Bank pub that she’d been remarkably quiet since. Not that they didn’t talk - quite the opposite - but their conversations lacked a depth they usually had, like Jemma was leaving things out that she’d normally have told him. She hardly mentioned troublesome patients or anything about her parents. Very little about her job hunt or her concerns about finding a new job or handling her living situation once she did. And just this morning she’d subtly disentangled herself from Fitz’ hug barely a second after he’d gotten his arms around her. 

Picking through their scant time together recently, Fitz found himself scowling into his beer. “So are y’ ever goin’ t’ tell me what’s wrong?” he asked worriedly. He was pretty sure he knew, but Fitz wanted Jemma to say it, so they were both crystal clear. 

She’d been distracted watching people come and go, her mind drifting over the few job listings she had managed to find that had some potential. She was in the middle of making a mental note to ask Singh what he thought when Fitz interrupted her thought. 

Caught unaware, Jemma couldn’t keep her eyes from widening a bit as she raised her pint to her lips. She took a long sip, trying to buy herself time. Eventually, she had to set her glass down and answer Fitz. “Wrong? Why would you think anything is wrong?”

“Dinna play dumb, lass. I’ doesna suit y’,” Fitz replied. His own pint was empty and he set it aside, the heavy glass thunking against the solid wood of the table. “I’m neither stupid nor blind, an’ things havena been quite right for a couple o’ weeks now.” 

Eyeing her across the table, Fitz settled back into his chair, arms crossed and clearly expectant. 

Her eyes darted downward and fixed on a knot in the polished wood of the table as she set her own beer to the side. Fitz was right, of course, but Jemma found it incredibly difficult to give voice to what was weighing on her. It would have been much easier if he’d just let it go; he knew damn well what was wrong, but seemed set on making her say it. 

“I’m, well, a bit ashamed of how I behaved the other night. You seemed…” Jemma swallowed heavily, her fingers toying with a loose thread at the hem of her shirt. “Happy. You seemed really happy, dancing.” She forced her eyes to meet his, and was oddly proud of herself for managing to keep her tears at bay. “It was wrong of me to do what I did, and I’m sorry for that.”

She paused again, picking her words carefully and silently hoping that Fitz would understand what she was about to say. “And, should it come down to it… I need to allow myself to move on, too. I can’t do that if I’m always running off to kiss you when I get the chance, can I?”

He blinked, surprised. That hadn’t been at all what he’d expected her to say. Well, sort of. Maybe. 

“Jem, I…” Fitz sighed and shook his head. “Is not that I’m not happy when I’m with y’, y’ know. Bu’ I have t’ look happy if I’m tryin’ t’ pick someone up. Or at least confiden’, even if I dinna feel that way.” Did she not understand that entire persona was a front? He’d thought she did. 

He hesitated before continuing, the idea hurting but knowing he needed to offer. “Y’ gave me two months, lass. An’ between thinkin’ everythin’ over an’ Dr. Thornton pushin’ me t’ try actually datin’ a few times before I made a choice like that, I havena had a much time t’ really think abou’ i’. Do y’... there’s only two weeks lef’. Would i’... be easier, if we didna see each other until is over?” 

Jemma blinked slowly at him, feeling dumb as she tried to process his words. 

Dating? Fitz, of all people, was dating instead just looking for a quick shag? She suddenly felt even guiltier than she had before. If he was trying to find that kind of happiness, how could she stand in the way? What kind of friend did that make her if she continued to push anything on him? Fitz, after the life he had lived, deserved to be happy. Jemma wanted that for him. 

But still, his words stung, too. Fitz’ offer to not see her was entirely unexpected, and hit her like a blow to the gut. For a moment, Jemma felt like a fish out of water, uncertain of what to think, much less how to react to what he’d said. Eventually, she forced her brain to work and gave him an answer he deserved. 

“I… I’m happier with you in my life than without. I don’t want to stop seeing you. You’re my best friend, Fitz.” Her words made it seem so much simpler than it actually was, and Jemma knew that Fitz saw that. She reached out and covered his hand with one of her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s not just that I’m happier with you. I need you, Fitz. I just need to guard my heart, too. Just in case.” She ran her thumb along his knuckles and quirked her mouth upward a bit, hoping he’d see what it was she was trying to say, but was botching so terribly. 

He couldn’t help the visible flinch when she mentioned the need to guard her heart, her words an aching reminder that he wasn’t the only one the situation had the power to wound. Still, Fitz’ fingers tightened around Jemma’s, needing the contact. A piece of him half thought she might run off on him for pushing, even though he knew better. 

“I dinna want t’ not see y’, either,” he said insistently. “Bu’ if is easier for y’ t’ not know what I’m up to… I can be quiet about it. I mean… that’s why I didna tell y’ about Dr. Thornton. I’m not that insensitive that I’d point out that I’ve been goin’ out with other people, y’ know? Y’ still wouldna have known if y’ hadna come to the club that night.” It took a beat before Fitz realized how that sounded and quickly moved to correct himself. “Not that I’m sayin’ y’ shouldna go out or y’ shouldna have been at the club. But I wouldna have done it if I’d known y’ were there t’ see.”

Jemma nodded slowly as he spoke, and gave his hand another small squeeze before pulling it back to her half of the booth. She leaned back slowly, and let her eyes roam over Fitz, his familiar mop of sandy curls, bright blue eyes, and the slight pout he currently wore. Neither of them actually wanted this, but both knew it was for the best, so she braced herself and spoke. 

“Then maybe it is best if we don’t see each other for a little while. Get our heads right and see where we are in two weeks.”

Jemma smiled at him, despite feeling like something had broken inside her. It all felt entirely too much like goodbye for her liking. 

Fitz startled, surprised and dismayed by her sudden turnaround, eyes wide and wounded. “I… okay,” he said softly, accepting that he’d made the offer and she’d taken him up on it. “Don’... dinna be silly about this, though. I’m still your best friend an’ you’re still mine. If somethin’ goes pear-shaped or y’ need me for somethin’, you’d damn well better call me.” 

Bracing himself, he slid out of the booth. If he wasn’t going to see Jemma for the next two weeks, he was at least going to claim a hug before he let her go. 

Jemma scrambled out after him, snugging her arms tightly around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. “I’ll call if I need you. Promise.” Her words were muffled, and for that Jemma was grateful. Although she knew it didn’t obscure them entirely, it would at least do enough to keep Fitz from worrying about why her voice had gone a bit thick.

It ended far sooner than she would have liked, but when it did, Jemma managed to keep her eyes dry as she left the bar and bid Fitz goodbye. 

~*~

She tried to manage her time so she was always busy, always occupied, and unable to think about Fitz. Of where he was and what he was doing or if he even missed her. It was a foolish thought, of course he missed her on some level, but Jemma still worried she’d somehow become more dependent on him than he on her. The feeling was a miserable one, and it was made worse when on the one day off Singh had forced her to take, she fielded a call from her mother. 

Jemma stared at the screen a moment, seriously tempted to just ignore the call, before answering and bringing the handset to her ear. “Yes, Mum?”

“Jemma, darling!” Vivian’s voice was bright and breezy, heedless of her oldest child’s dim tone. “I’m so glad I caught you. I was starting to think you were avoiding my calls.” The censure in the words wasn’t hidden in the slightest, although the older woman’s voice never bobbled. “How are things in London?” 

Jemma scowled a bit, her already dark mood unwilling to deal with her mother. Still… it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do, and aside from coworkers and patients, she hadn’t had much human contact. It might be nice to have someone to talk to, even if it came with her mother’s other baggage. 

“Things are… honestly, they’re a little up in the air at the moment.”

Vivian’s eyes narrowed on the other end of the line. She knew it. She knew something was going on that Jemma hadn’t been telling her or Elliott. Or even her sisters, since she’d pressed them into service already. “Whatever do you mean? Jemma. What’s going on down there? I know Devinder offered you a job there at London Bridge. He’s a lovely man, isn’t he?” 

“Yes, Mum, Dr. Singh has been very kind,” Jemma conceded, wincing as she prepared to tell her mother just how kind he had been to her. “He’s even agreed to help me find a job in forensics.” 

Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Vivian Simmons, with her dressing room stuffed to the gills with designer clothing and jewels and her garden parties understanding her daughter’s desire to cut into the recently deceased. There was a reason she’d never mentioned her career goals to her mother prior to this, and she waited for the inevitable shriek from the other end of the line. 

“Jemma, really. I thought we’d had this discussion before? You’re young and so bright. Why not obstetrics, or something more challenging, like surgery or neurology? They’re perfectly respectable specialties.” The false brightness had leeched from Vivian Simmons’ tone, revealing her exasperation with her daughter. “Forensics is so… so messy. What man will want to marry a woman who spends her days mucking about with dead bodies?” 

“The interesting kind, Mother.” Jemma had a brief flash of Fitz and his reaction when she’d first told him about her desire to go into that kind of work. He’d been a bit horrified, true, but still supportive. She could live with that for the rest of her life, and the thought brought a smile to her lips before reality intruded. 

She and Fitz weren’t speaking. It wasn’t right for her to expect anything of him, not at this point. And besides, even if she had had that right, Fitz had never given any indication that marriage was ever in the cards for him. Daydreaming about it like a schoolgirl was just an exercise in futility. 

Feeling more churlish now, Jemma snapped, “Besides, who says I want to get married?”

Vivian rejected that idea immediately. Of course her daughters would all marry, and she made that known immediately. “That’s nonsense, Jemma Catherine. You’ll marry a fine, upstanding young man and eventually give me grandchildren to spend your father’s money on.” The older woman was already racking her extensive list of social connections to think of unmarried men who might still consider Jemma if she went ahead with this ridiculous plan of hers. 

All the ones she’d dreamed of pairing her darling Jemma with when the girl was younger had already paired off while her daughter was gallivanting around going to medical school. A part of her still resented her daughter for ruining all those years of careful planning and socializing to get in with the right people. Adelaide was no help either, since her attitude pushed away as many potential suitors as Jemma’s ambitions did.

“What if that fine, upstanding young man doesn’t want children? You speak as if it’s just my choice, Mum. Last I recall, marriage was a partnership.” The closest she’d ever come to that kind of relationship, platonic or romantic, was Fitz. Somehow she couldn’t see him wanting kids, either. Jemma had found in her work with the public at large that while there were plenty of people who in response to having less than ideal parents decided to have children and attempt to break the cycle. But there were just as many who were afraid of perpetuating it. 

Sensing her mother gearing up for a fight, Jemma decided to head her off. “I just… I don’t think we have the same vision of my future, that’s all I’m trying to say, Mum.” 

“Is this about that boy, Jemma? The Scottish one? William said you had an unnatural interest in him.” Vivian faced the mirror in her room, carefully schooling her face out of the scowl that had formed and into a more pleasant - and less inclined to wrinkle - expression, even though her tone had gone icily cold.

Her lip curled with distaste at the thought of Jemma wasting her time with someone who’d never be suitable for her. Leopold had seemed nice enough at their dinner, but he was Scottish and lower class and had barely acceptable manners. Certainly he’d been unable to converse properly with her and with Elliott, and her husband had been furious that Jemma was so attached to him. Elliott agreed with Vivian, that their daughter should be focused on other things. They’d only allowed her to go to medical school thinking it was a whim that she would grow out of, but no, Jemma had persisted. Even Vivian’s efforts to get Jemma to quit by leaving her in the fast paced and high stress A&E department hadn’t succeeded in dissuading her child from this course of action. She’d certainly be having a talk with Devinder Singh about encouraging Jemma’s interest in other areas of medicine. 

Jemma bristled, both at the mention of her ex-boyfriend and his apparent disapproval of her friendship with Fitz, and it showed through in her tone. “To be quite frank, Mother, I don’t give a damn about what William finds unnatural.” She left it at that. Her mother already knew full well what had happened with William, although she apparently still put more stock in what he had to say than anything having to do with Fitz. 

It was a foolish impulse, Jemma knew, but something in her desperately wanted her mother to understand, just a little, why the Scottish engineer meant so much to her. 

“Fitz… he’s my best friend. He’s good to me. Listens when I need him to and provides support. I can’t imagine my life without him, Mum, no more than you could imagine a life without Daddy. And there may be more there, we just have to-” Jemma stopped herself short once she realized that she had said too much. Now there was no way she would avoid receiving the third degree from her mother; the woman was simply too perceptive, and too nosy. 

Vivian listened, but she didn’t like any of what she was hearing. “We just have to what?” Mrs. Simmons asked, latching onto Jemma’s comment just as Jemma had expected. “More, Jemma? More? You’re smarter than this. He is a homosexual, Jemma. You’re being foolish, if you think there’s a chance for anything more with him.” 

She rose from her seat to pace the room, completely heedless of the beautiful things surrounding her as she zeroed in on something she thought of as a weakness in her daughter. Jemma had always had a fondness for strays and orphans and foundlings as a child. Vivian had thought she’d grown out of it - or at least channeled it into doctoring her patients - but apparently not. 

Her mother’s words stung, but Jemma wasn’t sure whether it was because they cut so cleanly through what she’d been hoping for, or because they were true. Perhaps it was both. 

Vivian Simmons was right. Fitz was gay; it wasn’t as if Jemma hadn’t known that. And, despite everything that had happened, and the attachment they had formed, she did still wonder if that would be enough to override his biological imperative. Her stomach churned as her brain went into overdrive, and her tongue fumbled over words. 

“Yes, more,” Jemma insisted, eyes shut tight against the tears that were threatening to fall. “More affection and kindness and tenderness. We’ve been spending more time together, and I just…” Jemma thought of their time in Scotland, of the way she seemed to fit against him so easily, the gentle touches he used with her, regardless of the situation. “I just don’t know if I could live with myself if I didn’t give that a chance.”

What she was thinking was that now there was no way she could deny loving Leo Fitz. Rather, being in love with him, but given her mother’s reaction, there was no way she was going to mention that now. That knowledge seemed to put a keen edge on everything though, and Jemma found herself both elated and heartbroken by turns. 

“Fine, keep him as your best friend then, Jemma, but don’t think that companionship is going to make up for the lack of a true romantic partner in your life. You’re going to want a husband eventually, and no one will take you if you’re digging into dead bodies and spending all your time with some other man, gay or not,” Vivian gritted out, fighting not to raise her voice. The only reason she didn’t was that Elliott was just down the hall, and the last thing she needed was for her husband to get wind of this. He’d be furious and tell Jemma to cut that Fitz boy loose on the spot. 

“Why don’t I look through my calendar and see what social engagements are coming up?” Vivian’s voice turned wheedling, even as her expression went sly on the other end of the phone. “At the very least, you can meet people and perhaps make some new friends.” 

Jemma’s eyes slid shut as her breathing went shallow, her mum’s words pinging around her brain. This was useless; the impulse to share any part of her life or concerns with her mother had been an absolute folly. Vivian Simmons would never care about what her daughters wanted on an emotional level, unless it just so happened to suit the family’s interests. Jemma had known that, and had tried anyway, leaving her feeling spent and hollow. Arguing further could only make it worse. 

With a sigh, Jemma covered her face with a hand and yielded. “All right, Mum. See what there is in the next few days. I suppose I could do with getting out of my flat.”


	27. Chapter 27

Fifteen days. It had been fifteen days since he’d seen Jemma, and Fitz had suffered through eight dates in that time. Some had gone better than others, and Fitz had honestly tried his best, but not one of them had prickled more than momentary interest in anything beyond just a date or two. It seemed that it didn’t matter who they were or what they looked like, they paled in comparison to Jemma. And surely he hadn’t clicked instantly with any of them, going into easy conversation like he had that night in the hospital with her. 

Perhaps he needed to be high on ketamine to meet anyone? 

It was a terrible, impossible thought and Fitz scowled at his own folly as he dug into his closet. Of all people, Anthony had actually stepped up and been something of a sounding board for him the last two weeks, debriefing him after several of the dates. It had only been Anthony’s reassurances that if someone didn’t click, that was okay that had gotten him through. If anyone would know, it was the attractive young man. He had plenty of experience in the dating realm, especially since he was a few years older than Fitz and had lived in London the whole time. 

He’d had another appointment with Dr. Thornton this morning, and he and Anthony were meeting for dinner tonight - still just as friends - and then going to the club together. Because of the plans for after, though, Fitz was putting in more effort with his appearance than his usually scruffy college boy look. So out came the fitted button down and slim jeans he usually wore, although this one was a deep red. He nearly shoved it back into the closet when he realized it was one Jemma had steered him toward, insisting that blue-eyed blonds could still wear red. 

He ended up wearing it anyway, and spent the ride into London thinking through everything for about the hundredth time. Fitz was pretty certain of his choice, but it was huge. And was going to impact everything. It was terrifying even as it felt oddly relieving. The real question was how Jemma would react, but that was for tomorrow. Tonight felt like one last hurrah. 

Her mother had been as good as her word, and had provided Jemma with a series of openings and dinners and galas to attend over the course of the past two weeks, and as loathe as she was to admit it, they had been fairly good distractions. Sure, the people had been vapid, and none of the men her mother had happened to put in her way kept her attention for more than the night, but it had been nice. She had been able to dress up and drink and dance with a string of handsome men, and it had taken some of the sting from not seeing Fitz. 

It wasn’t a cure-all, though, and so now, on the night before the deadline she imposed, she found herself peering over the edge of a rather terrifying precipice. She hadn’t heard from Fitz, and so she had no idea where his mind was; he very easily could tell her no tomorrow, and she was struggling to keep her nerves in check. Knowing she could stay home without driving herself mad, she decided that an evening out was in order. 

Somehow, she managed to get into the black lace dress she’d bought earlier in the week; from the front it appeared rather demure, covering her from her shoulders to mid-thigh. However, the back was nearly entirely open, something that inexplicably gave her a jolt of confidence. When paired with open-toe black lace booties and some of the darkest eye makeup she’d ever dared apply, Jemma felt miles from herself, and had she been pressed, would have admitted to feeling sexy in the get up. 

She paused just inside her door to check her lipstick, and satisfied that she looked every part the club kid out for a fun night, went downstairs to hail a cab. 

Fitz made it through dinner, telling Anthony all about this last date and the decisions he’d made about Jemma. It wasn’t until after, when they were simply talking and hanging around for a bit before heading to the club, that Anthony pulled a folded paper from his back pocket and handed it to Fitz. 

It turned out to be a section of the society page from the Times, and while the group in the forefront were of no interest to Fitz, the dark haired woman beaming behind them, tucked under the arm of some society scion, very much was. Seeing Jemma looking gorgeous and so happy - when was the last time he’d seen her smile and laugh like that? - made something knot in his stomach. Had she taken his withdrawal as a sign that…? Fitz suddenly felt like he was going to vomit. After everything, especially this last month and then the two weeks apart… Had he lost her entirely? 

He looked up, eyes haunted, to find Anthony eyeing him, not unsympathetically. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” 

Swallowing hard, glancing down at the photo again, Fitz nodded. “Pretty sure, yeah. Dinna if she’ll still want me, if she’s got that to go home to, though.” 

Anthony made a noise. “Even back in January when you were being a grumpy bastard, that girl looked at you like you hung the moon. I wouldn’t sell yourself short - or have so little faith in her. C’mon. Let’s get out of here before you get sick all over the table.” 

Fitz wasn’t sure if he should believe Anthony or not, no matter how much he wanted to think the logical explanation was true and Jemma wasn’t involved with that guy beyond socializing at some party. Although she hadn’t gone to those sort of things for months - not since that last one after she broke up with William. Confused, sad and uncertain - and almost definitely not in the mood for a party now - Fitz followed Anthony onto the Underground and down to Westminster and Heaven. 

Three shots and an hour of dancing later, Fitz started to make his way off the dance floor, only to slow and then freeze when he spotted Jemma. It didn’t even look like her at first, but the way she moved caught his attention. Jemma had this certain graceful gracelessness to her dancing that didn’t even make sense, but it stood out. Or at least, it did to him. 

Her hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, curls cascading to her shoulders and leaving the open back of her dress on display, makeup dark and intense and paired with a deceptively innocent shade of pink gloss. Hesitating for a long moment, Fitz was shoved at by other people - and sworn at twice - before he made his feet move in her direction and cut in on her partner. 

“Hi, Jem,” he said softly when he slid into the space in front of her. 

Heaven was as it always had been: pulsating bass, over-priced drinks, strobing lights, and more people on the dance floor than was advisable. Jemma did what Fitz had taught her, and downed a drink before finding her way to the dance floor. A few men had approached her to dance, and while she allowed that, as soon as they became too handsy or asked if she’d be willing to go with them, she turned them down. They were handsome, certainly, and a few months ago Jemma would have seen no reason to say no… but they weren’t who she wanted. 

She wanted a lanky, somewhat awkward engineering student who could be both surly and endearing by turns. Jemma wanted Fitz, and none of these others would do. Then, as if she conjured him out of thin air simply by thinking him, he stood before her, looking uncertain. 

Jemma returned his simple greeting with a gentle, “Hello,” of her own before stepping a bit closer. She recognized the shirt he was wearing as one she had encouraged him to buy, and was pleased to see that she was right about him looking good in red. “The color suits you,” she whispered, leaning in to speak directly in his ear, her palm landing lightly on his chest in a bid to keep her balance. 

Fitz gave her a faint, uncertain smile. “Yeah. Y’ were right abou’ the red,” he agreed. His partners from earlier in the evening had seemed to agree, as well. “I- Are y’ here alone, lass?” he asked. The other guy she’d been dancing with had stepped aside easily enough, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t with someone. 

They were eye to eye. Well, actually, Jemma was a little taller with the killer heels she had on, and he had to look up the slightest bit to meet her eyes, even as his hand automatically reached to help her balance, landing at her hip almost the same instant her hand flattened against his chest.

The moment stretched between them, and Jemma felt her breathing go shallow. The hand he had resting on her hip was warm through the thin material of her dress, and she fought the urge to wiggle closer to him in an attempt to get both of his hands on her. 

Something about his question made her a tad nervous, but she licked her lips, swallowed, and answered him anyway. “I came here alone, Fitz.” Jemma had meant what she’d said when she had told him she was waiting on him. Until he gave her a hard no, there would be no other men for her.

The corner of his mouth twitched up, but Fitz wasn’t ready to relax just yet. It had been two weeks. The deadline was tomorrow, and she was out partying alone. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, or if that picture had meant anything, but for the moment he didn’t want to think about it. 

“Dance with me?” Fitz asked in the quieter moment as the music morphed into another song. “We can talk later?”

The music picked up again as soon as Fitz finished speaking, so Jemma settled for nodding and loosely wrapping her arms about his neck as he began to move. She let him lead, her hips easily picking up on his movement, and gave him a bright grin. For the first time in a month, she felt honestly happy. She was with Fitz, pressed against him as he led her through song after song, their heads ducked together. 

Despite the press of bodies all around them, Jemma’s focus was only for Fitz, from the way his fingers gently skimmed over her bare back, making her shiver, to the slightly shy smile that played across his lips. It hit her anew then just how in love with him she was, and suddenly, dancing and being out was the least important thing she could be doing. All Jemma wanted was to get somewhere quiet so she and Fitz could talk, and maybe exchange a few of those kisses she’d been missing. 

He’d missed her, perhaps even more than he realized while keeping himself so busy the last two weeks. Fitz still wasn’t a great dancer, but his sense of rhythm let him move reasonably well, and it let him lead Jemma enough to tune out everything else and not focus on his own body. His hands settled lightly on her hips and he lost track of time for the next several songs. After all, he and Jemma didn’t always need words to communicate perfectly well. 

Startled when fingers settled over his on Jemma’s hips, he looked up, ready to snarl at whoever had dared to come up and press in behind Jemma like that. Anthony’s laugh and grin met his glare though, and Fitz relaxed a little. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’d tried to say something twice and you’re not paying the least bit of attention,” Anthony chuckled, amused by the possessive tightening of Fitz’ fingers under his own as he fell into rhythm behind Jemma, making it somewhat less awkward. “Jemma, good to see you, darling,” he murmured into the young woman’s ear. “I have to say, I like this look on you.” 

“Anthony,” Fitz grumbled, irritated by the interruption and the way Anthony had pressed up against Jemma, even if it was just to keep dancing while they spoke. “Did y’ want somethin’?” 

Jemma could feel the taller man’s laugh as it reverberated through his chest, clearly relaying his mirth. She had the grace to blush when he pointed out how distracted they’d been; she had been pretty wrapped up in Fitz, and he in her. The corners of her mouth curled up as she tilted her head, bringing Anthony into view. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, “I wanted to try something a little different.” Feeling pleased with herself, Jemma turned back to Fitz expecting to see him smile in return. What she found, however, was her best friend wearing a slight scowl. “What?” she asked, brows knitting together in concern. 

“Nothing,” Fitz denied immediately, pasting a smile back on his face. He was being foolish, jealous because Anthony got a kiss and he didn’t even after not seeing him for two weeks. Fitz knew it wasn’t fair, but the sour sensation in his gut was still there. 

Anthony, aware that Fitz was already nervous to say the least, quickly interrupted. “I figure you and Jemma have plenty to talk about, and I’ve found company for the evening, so I’m headed out. Give me a call later this week, alright?” 

Fitz nodded his agreement and Anthony disappeared almost as fast as he’d appeared. Without their audience, he relaxed a little, very suddenly looking altogether sheepish through the lingering upset. “He go’ a kiss an’ I didn’. Tha’s all.” 

Jemma arched a brow and snugged her arms more tightly about his neck, pulling Fitz against her body. “Fitz,” she chided softly, low and affectionate. She hoped he knew by now that he was the most important man in her life. She certainly didn’t feel anything for Anthony, beyond a bit of gratitude that he’d apparently been a friend to Fitz when they hadn’t been speaking. 

Tilting her head to the side, she pressed a kiss first to one cheek, then the other, before looking him in the eye once more and pressing a kiss to his lips. She kept it slow and sweet, knowing that Fitz still wasn’t the most comfortable with public displays of affection. When Jemma pulled back again, it was only far enough to murmur, “Should we get out of here?” with her lips still just barely brushing against his own. 

A flush swept over his cheeks, pleased and a bit embarrassed. Even though he’d done far worse in the club in the past, it had never been with someone who actually meant something to him before. Fitz still had some odd divisions in his head he needed to work through of what was appropriate and where, depending on who he was with. His relationship with Jemma was private, personal, and he’d like to keep it that way. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” he murmured, reluctantly drawing back from her hold to guide her out of the club and into the warm September night. Silent until they’d reached the sidewalk outside, his ears feeling thick and half-deaf from the pounding bass inside, Fitz glanced over at her. He wasn’t used to Jemma being taller than him, and his eyes drifted places they probably shouldn’t be for a moment before he focused on her face and deciding where they were heading. “Mine okay?” 

Jemma noticed the way his gaze lingered on her, almost as if Fitz expected her to disappear at any moment, and felt a quick rush of pride run through her. She’d rarely admit it to herself, let alone anyone else, that she did value what people thought of her physical appearance. It was one of the few things Vivian had drilled into her head that had stuck, and as shallow as she found it, there was something pleasing about knowing Fitz was, at the very least, intrigued, by the way she looked. 

“That’s fine, Fitz,” she agreed, giving his fingers a squeeze before he turned to hail them a cab. They spent the ride to Highgate huddled in the backseat, fingers entwined and heads ducked together as they watched the city pass by them. When they pulled up to the drive leading to Fitz’ cottage, they settled payment with the driver and Jemma allowed Fitz to step out before her, taking his hand and following him to his door. 

It was all surprisingly quiet, neither of them quite sure where to begin when it came to talking about their relationship, as they shed shoes and keys and handbags in the foyer. Jemma paused, watching Fitz as he looked about, seemingly confused about where they should be having this conversation, and made the decision for them. 

“The sofa might be best, yeah?”

Fitz was expecting to take the train back to Highgate, but Jemma nudged him toward a cab and curled in close to his side for the ride up to his place and he found he couldn’t really say anything. Even though he knew his choice was made, Fitz still had his concerns and fears and he hadn’t entirely figured out how to articulate those to Jemma. They made sense enough in his own head, but said aloud? Fitz huffed out a little breath, nervous, and shook his head slightly when Jemma cast him a curious look. 

He followed her into the flat, still distracted and thoughtful as they shed the detritus of a night out. He’d gone out not knowing he’d run into Jemma or that she’d be here with him, and it felt… odd, but not in a bad way, to have her back here, in his space. Given a half hour or so, it would feel like home again, with Jemma as another comfortable part of it, but her expression clearly said she wanted to talk. 

“Can’ it wait til mornin’, lass?” he wheedled. “Is been a good nigh’, an’ tha’s a serious conversation for us t’ have when we’re clearheaded an’ fully sober. Please?” 

Being out of her heels, Jemma sank back to being shorter than Fitz, just the right height to step in and be able to rest her head on his shoulder. Wanting to put him at ease, and simply giving in to her selfish need to be close, she did exactly that, winding her arms about his waist and pressing close. Her eyes drifted shut as she inhaled deeply, just soaking in the smell of him, clean and sharp and masculine. 

“We can do whatever you’d like, Fitz,” she said, nodding against the bright red fabric beneath her cheek and prodding him in the direction of the den. She trusted that Fitz would tell her what he needed to when he needed to, and that for now, it would be enough to just be together. Even though it had only been 15 days, Jemma felt like they’d each missed out on a large chunk of the other’s life. It’d be good to just catch up on that, without bringing anything else into play. 

Fitz resisted the prod, instead steering them toward the short hallway and laughing softly as Jemma clung to him. “C’mon, Jem. Y’ know how this is going t’ go. We’re no’ goin’ t’ move off tha’ couch until mornin’. Y’ should change clothes.” His fingers found her spine and stroked upward, the usually innocently soothing motion turned into a caress by the backless dress. 

He itched to pull her to a halt and flatten his palms over her skin, to explore, but it simply wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Things were going to be strange for a while, putting their friendship and relationship or whatever they were calling it back into order, and Fitz needed to make sure nothing blew up in their faces. No matter what else, he could not lose Jemma. It simply wasn’t an option to him. 

Jemma reluctantly followed his urging and he disentangled himself enough to pull out a soft t-shirt and a pair of his shorts for her to wear before nudging her toward his bathroom to change. “Go on, lass. Ge’ comfortable,” he murmured. As beautiful as she was, that wasn’t his Jemma. His Jemma was mostly bare-faced, hair pulled back into neat ponytails and knots, not this vixen with the sexily mussed hair with bedroom eyes and sky-high heels. 

Fitz’ fingers on her bare back, in conjunction with the buzz she still had going from the few drinks she had earlier, sent a shudder down Jemma’s spine. What she wanted was to tug him along with her, bypassing the bathroom in favor of his bedroom, but she knew that wouldn’t do anything for them, other than add to their confusion. The way he’d reacted to her tonight gave Jemma hope that when it came to it, his choice would be to make an honest go of it with her. Still, there was a bit of doubt lingering over the situation, and pushing for the type of physical affection they’d been dancing around as of late would only muddle the situation further. 

So, she shut herself in the bathroom, quickly stripping out of the dress in favor of Fitz’ shirt and shorts and pulling her hair back into a neat bun to clean her face. Once the cosmetics had all been washed away, she undid her bun and brushed out her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. She stuck her head into the hall, and seeing Fitz’ bedroom door open, but no sight of the man himself, headed into the sitting area. 

In the kitchen, Fitz had pulled down the only alcohol he had in the house - the bottle of scotch he’d stashed there ages ago. He’d barely touched it in all this time, preferring to buy cheaper liquor or beer when he felt the urge to drink outside the club, which was rare anyway. He was still a bit buzzed from the shots at the club, but edging toward sober and his anxiety was rising as he waited on Jemma. The last thing he needed was to stress out now, not when he finally had time to spend with her and the deadline looming overhead. 

He heard Jemma venture out into the other room and hurriedly poured and downed a double, neat, before filling both glasses and carrying them out to her. At the last second he tucked the bottle under his arm, too. “Here, take this,” he murmured, handing one of the glasses down to her and setting the bottle on the table. “Is been a long few months… an especially the las’ two weeks,” Fitz added as he settled next to her and held out his glass. “Here’s t’ finally knowin’ where we’re going, one way or another.” 

He was nervous. That much was plain to Jemma as she watched him come around the corner with the two tumblers of scotch and the bottle to boot. His smile was too tight, and his eyes couldn’t find a set place to land. Part of Jemma wanted to call him on it, wanted to press the issue now, but she relented. She had promised him until the next day, and she’d stay true to her word. She would only accept an early answer from him if he gave it freely. 

She lifted her own glass and gently touched it to his. “To us,” she replied, not liking his provisional “one way or another,” but unsure of how to respond to it. It was a sad state of things when two weeks away could do this to them, and Jemma clung to that thought. Regardless of what Fitz had decided, or what came to pass tomorrow, they could at least rectify that now. She sipped at the amber liquid, enjoying the way it burned a bit on the way down, and with her head tilted against the back of the sofa, fix Fitz with a tiny, slightly sleepy smile. 

“So, tell me. What have I missed out on these past two weeks?”

“To us,” Fitz agreed, forgetting the rest of his original toast. They were more important, anyway. Jemma’s little smile unnerved him though, something lurking under the expression that he couldn’t read. She didn’t close the distance between them either, not like she would have two weeks before, and it left him awkward and confused. 

Fitz answered her question though, talking about his dates and his growing friendship with Anthony. His appointments with Dr. Thornton and the follow up calls about his project. He carefully avoided all the thought he’d given their situation or his earlier admission to Anthony that he thought he might be in love with her, because in the end it didn’t matter. Fitz had to do what was going to be best for both of them, and if he couldn’t come to terms with what being with Jemma meant for him, there was no point in teasing her with the idea of more. 

“Wha’ about y’?” he asked when he was done. “I saw a picture of y’ in the paper at some party. What have y’ been up to?” 

Jemma’s smile widened as she listened to Fitz speak. As hard as it had been to be away from him, it was good to hear that he had found another friend in Anthony. She had liked the man from the start, and she was glad Fitz had another person he could confide in. At least he hadn’t been entirely alone. 

His question caught her off guard, and given the late hour and the liquor running through her veins, she couldn’t keep her surprise from her face. Jemma leaned forward to set down her glass on the table, and when she sat back, she shifted a bit nearer to him. Even with an inch between them, she could feel heat radiating from him, and she took comfort in that. 

“Honestly?” she asked, meeting Fitz’ bright blue eyes. “I haven’t been up to much, other than work and a few events.” She caught the look he gave her at the mention of events, the slight scowl that came across his countenance at any mention of her parents or their interests. “I was at loose ends, Fitz, and after speaking to my mother, well, it just seemed to be for the best,” she explained, falling silent in favor of watching him for his reaction. 

“Is no’ that y’ went,” Fitz said immediately. “But y’ were with someone, an’... well… y’ looked happy.” He glanced away, but he didn’t think he was fast enough to hide the conflicting emotions running through him. Fitz didn’t think that Jemma would shift her affections so quickly, not after saying she was waiting for him, but as he’d noted with Anthony, it stung a bit. 

There was only a bit left in his glass, but Fitz swallowed the last of it and considered pouring himself another. “I’m glad you had a good time. Really.” That part he did mean, and he hoped she could tell. Fitz had never wanted Jemma to be alone and miserable while they weren’t speaking. 

Jemma’s eyes narrowed a bit as she watched him, trying to place the emotion she saw flit across Fitz’ face. There was something odd about all of it, from the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes to the formal tone he was using. Sitting up, she squared herself to him, heedless of the way her legs crossed over his knees as she moved. 

“I never attended any event with anyone...wait. Leopold Fitz, are you jealous?” The very idea that he may be pleased her more than she should admit, but it was her utter disbelief that showed through in her tone. 

His eyes cut over to hers even as his hand automatically reached to brace her legs over his, warm fingers curling behind Jemma’s knee. Fitz’ lips pressed together, considering his answer and finally choosing to just own up to it. “Yeah,” he said softly, sounding regretful and perhaps a bit sad, but he forced his eyes back up to hers, “Yes, I was jealous.” 

Those magnificent blue eyes Jemma so adored were turned on her, and in any other situation, she would have reached out to hug him. Fitz looked so disappointed in himself for admitting to feeling jealous, but she couldn’t help the tiny laugh that bubbled up from her throat. 

“Fitz, you hypocrite,” she teased, shaking her head as her hands covered his own where they lay on her knees. “You’re jealous of my going out while you were out dating?” She felt his fingers twitch, and fearing that he would pull away from her, clamped down, holding him in place. “I meant what I told you, Fitz. I was waiting for you. I met people, men, there, but none of them could hold my interest.”

Fitz shrugged and ducked away again, blushing. “I was only datin’ because Dr. Thornton suggested it an’ I thought she had a poin’.” 

He was quiet for a long moment, thumb tapping against her knee in a restless, fidgeting twitch. He was surprised Jemma had called him out about that, but relieved that she’d laughed it off. At least some pieces of their friendship were still where they should be. He was finally feeling the effects of the whiskey, and while he wasn’t drunk, something tight in his stomach loosened, his nerves easing somewhat. “Would i’ help any if-” Fitz started to ask, but it didn’t feel right. His emotions kept shifting, and his glance was shy this time. “I missed y’ terribly, lass.” 

The way his thumb was tapping against the tender skin of her knee tickled a bit, sending a little shiver up her leg, and Jemma tightened the fingers of her right hand around them. It was terribly distracting, and now was not a time for her to be distracted. The liquor was doing a fine enough job of that. 

“I missed you, too,” she murmured, her free hand coming up so she could run her fingers through Fitz’ curls. “Let’s agree that, no matter what happens, we won’t do this to each other? I-” Her fight with her mother played in the back of her mind, and she pressed on. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it in some capacity. I really don’t like my life without you in it.”

Fitz wished he could promise that without reservations, but realistically there might be times when they needed space to think through something or calm down. “A week tops - no, five days, if we need it,” he said with a shake of his head. “And even then, space only, no’ silence like this. If I hadna kept busy, I’d have driven myself crazy.” 

Feeling like things were finally moving in the correct direction and settling back into place, Fitz let himself do the same thing physically. When Jemma reached up for his hair, he leaned in, closing the distance between them to tip his head and rest it against Jemma’s. “I hate it when you’re no’ around. How did this even happen?” he asked, but his tone was soft and affectionate, the question rhetorical. “A year ago I was perfectly fine on my own.” 

The way his head tipped into her touch made Jemma grin, and she leaned forward further to lean against him, simply enjoying being near him after their time apart. “I don’t think either of us were fine,” she responded, “not really. I know you don’t believe me when I say it, but my life really is better with you in it.”

Jemma’s easy acceptance of his touch had Fitz wriggling his arm up and out from where it was stuck between them, curling around Jemma’s shoulders and tugging her in. It was like he was making up for all those years when he didn’t have anyone who’d simply touch him without having to make it hurt, the way he wanted to be close to her all the time. Two weeks of silence and quiet between them was something he didn’t want to repeat. 

Fitz drew her legs up further over his lap, setting her feet on the couch instead of dangling off, and freeing his hand to skim idle patterns over her calf, down to her ankle and back. 

Fitz’ touch was gentle as he stroked his callused fingertips along her calf, but even that small touch was enough to tickle. Jemma giggled in response, wiggling a bit on the cushions as she did so. “Fitz!” she gasped, her voice thick with laughter, “That tickles. Stop, for a moment.”

He heeded her, and Jemma took advantage of the break to lean over and pour them each a fresh tumbler of good scotch, effectively killing the bottle. She handed Fitz his glass and tucked herself close to him, saying, “There. Keep your hands busy with that. Maybe then you won’t be so tempted to tickle me.”

He withdrew his hand, disappointed but compliant. “Alrigh’, alrigh’, no ticklin’,” he half-grumbled, no heat behind the words. Fitz set his arm around her again though, as soon as she leaned back into the couch, feeling warm and affectionate as the next swallow of whiskey hit him. He was good and tipsy now, although in such a quiet mood that it translated to extra affectionate rather than loud and obnoxious. That was the problem with Fitz and drunkenness - it was unpredictable, which was why he rarely let himself get into that state. 

This though - this he liked. Warm and comfortable, loose and relaxed now, his anxiety barely pinging in the back of his head, muffled by alcohol. Fitz gave Jemma a little nudge and a tug, urging her over into his lap. “C’mere,” he offered, lifting his other arm to make a clear space for her.

Her limbs felt ungainly thanks to the drink, but Jemma somehow forced them into compliance, carefully placing her hands and feet in such a way so as not to hit any ginger places as she settled into Fitz’ lap. She was struck yet again by how much she had missed being able to be close to Fitz while they hadn’t been speaking, even though it had been a self-imposed restriction, and she set her mind to make up for it as best she could now. 

Jemma snaked her own arm around Fitz waist, pinning it between his back and the sofa, before resting her head against his shoulder. Taking care to not spill either of their drinks, she settled herself in, squirming a bit in his lap as she found a comfortable position. She found it, and let her eyes shut with a sigh. 

“You know, I think if I had a blanket, I could sleep here,” Jemma mumbled, beginning to feel truly sleepy between the warmth of Fitz and the effects of the liquor, and stifling a yawn against his shoulder.

Fitz caught Jemma’s glass tipping as she relaxed and stopped paying attention to it. Leaning forward, he set his own aside and then took hers as well, leaving their hands free as he settled back. He had a random thought that this couch was some of the best money he’d spent when furnishing this flat. Everyone should have a huge, squishy and comfortable couch in their home. Sometimes it seemed like more than half his best memories with Jemma centered on this couch. Which sounded terrible, but it had become their default place for serious conversations, good and bad, starting with that day she’d shown up unexpectedly and cried all over him. 

He smiled at the sound of protest Jemma made when he moved, widening to a grin when she snuggled back in, sleepy and cuddly as a cat, when he leaned back into his corner. Her blanket was still draped over the back of the couch, but Fitz didn’t bother with it yet. Instead he found himself stroking his fingers through the length of Jemma’s hair, taking advantage of her leaving it loose for once. 

Yet another thing he’d never have imagined doing a year ago. Or even a few months ago. 

Jemma’s eyes drifted shut as Fitz began finger combing her hair, the gentle touch working in conjunction with the scotch and his body heat to lull her further into a hazy, dreamy state. She nuzzled further into his shoulder, getting comfortable and ready to fall asleep, when a draft ran across her lower back. Her shirt had ridden up as she tried to get comfortable, leaving her skin exposed. 

She pouted at the sensation of cold air brushing against warm skin, and pulled her head away from Fitz to glance around. Spying what she wanted on the back of the sofa, Jemma tugged down the blanket he’d bought her and arranged it around the two of them, taking care that none of her would be exposed. “That’s better,” she sighed, craning her neck up slightly to press a kiss to the corner of his jaw, feeling sleepy and affectionate once more. 

The extra warmth from the blanket had him drifting too, in short order, along with Jemma’s sleepy nuzzles and wiggling to get into a comfortable spot. Once she’d found it though, she was a drowsy, warm weight against him, and Fitz finally relaxed fully, setting his chin against her hair and drifting off as well.


	28. Chapter 28

By morning they’d somehow tipped over, limbs twined in an impossible tangle along with the blanket, and for once Fitz woke first, prompted by a sudden chill on his feet. Grumbling under his breath, he pulled his knees up, trying to get the exposed parts back under covers. Failing that - Jemma had pinned it firmly around her own feet - he sighed and resigned himself to being awake for the moment. At least having her with him again made that a bit more tolerable. 

She had been fighting wakefulness, but Fitz’ movement next to her pushed away the last vestiges of her dreaming. With an annoyed groan, Jemma pulled her eyes open and looked at her best friend. “What the hell, Fitz,” she groused, shifting closer to him so she could both duck her face against his shoulder and pull the covers further over her head. “It’s too early.”

It wasn’t that Jemma wasn’t a morning person; before she had begun working nights, she had actually quite liked being up early. No, what was getting to her now was the headache pulsing away at the back of her skull, and all she wanted was a few more hours of sleep and some water. The longer she was awake, however, the less likely more sleep seemed, and so she stretched, contemplating how quickly she could run into the kitchen, fill a glass, and duck back under the covers. 

The thought flew from her mind, however, as a little fission of heat ran through her belly. Jemma’s eyes snapped open then as the rest of her froze; when Fitz had shifted, his knee had somehow worked its way higher between her legs, producing a rather interesting result when she had moved. “Sorry,” she muttered, a blush rising on her cheeks as she shifted away and covered her embarrassment with a yawn. 

“Y’ stole the blanket,” Fitz mumbled, voice plaintive, “M’ feet are cold.” He wasn’t ready to be fully awake, and if Jemma would resettle and let him have his half of the blanket back, he’d likely be able to drift back off again. It couldn’t be much past seven, and they’d been up until after 2, at least. 

Heedless of what his own movement had done, Fitz fumbled clumsily after Jemma when she moved and only then realized just where his thigh had been. Blushing deeply - he hadn’t intended to do that - he let her go as she rolled off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. Fitz sighed and accepted that he likely wouldn’t get the lazy morning with her he’d wanted, but busied himself straightening out the blanket. Hopefully Jemma would at least crawl back in with him when she was done with whatever it was she was up to. 

When she crossed the room again, headed for the bathroom with a glass of water, Fitz found his voice. “If you’re going for the paracetamol, is in the cabine’. An’ you’re a sain’ if y’ bring me two, as well.” 

“Lazy man,” she softly chided without any heat behind her words. Jemma padded softly into the bathroom, glass dangling precariously from her fingertips as she dug into Fitz’ medicine cabinet. The bottle was easy enough to find, and she set down the glass of water to tap four of the tablets into her free hand before replacing everything and returning to him in the living room. 

She perched near his hip, and nudging him gently, she commanded, “Sit up,” before handing him his portion of the paracetamol and the water. She took her own dose right after, and burrowed back under the blankets, her head pillowed on Fitz’ chest and one leg thrown haphazardly over his thigh. “I don’t think I’ll manage to cook today, sorry,” she mumbled, eyes slipping shut in what Jemma already knew would likely be a futile attempt to go back to sleep. 

Fitz shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pressed into the couch. “Is okay. I’ll make pancakes. An’ bacon,” he muttered. He could manage that without making a total mess or burning his flat down. Not that he was really that bad in the kitchen, but his food tended to come out rather flavorless, especially compared to Jemma’s attempts at the same recipes. 

He settled down and was quiet for a long while, hoping they’d both drift back off, but it didn’t seem likely. Fitz only grew more and more awake, and although she was silent too, he could tell Jemma was as well. His fingers rested lightly on her waist, and knowing they needed to talk about everything, he decided to get it over with. 

“So, I tol’ Dr. Thornton yesterday. I’m done with the partyin’ an’ runnin’ aroun’. Until or unless y’ tell me t’ get gone, I’m all yours, lass.” He said it quietly but conversationally, dropping it carefully into the quiet between them. 

Jemma had hummed happily at Fitz’ mention of pancakes and bacon, looking forward to a meal she wouldn’t have to do much of the prep work for, when his second statement hit her ears. 

I’m all yours, lass. 

The words echoed around her head as her eyes flew open for a second time, her heart suddenly pounding wildly in her chest. Did he mean what she thought he did? Taking care to not elbow him and potentially ruin the moment, levered herself up onto her elbow to look him in the eye. Her position put her scant inches from him, their noses brushing gently as she peered down at him, a delighted smile forming on her lips. 

“Fitz… do you mean…?” She let the statement dangle there, hoping he would pick up on what she was thinking. 

Fitz’ hand made its way up to her cheek, drawing Jemma back a bit so he could study her expression, even as his own heart beat madly in his chest. It wasn’t that he was afraid she’d tell him no - after all, she’d been the one to make it clear what she wanted and the deadline to make a decision - but this was huge for him. He’d gone through so much because he was gay, and it had taken him so long to come to terms with it, and being with Jemma now felt like he was rejecting all of that. 

And yet… he was happier when he was with Jemma than he was any other time in his life. Unlike anyone else he’d ever met, she didn’t want him to be anything other than what he was, and yet - as terribly maudlin and cliched as it sounded - Fitz was a better person when he was with her. If only because he desperately wanted Jemma to stay when no one else ever had. 

She was waiting on his answer, her smile fading a little as those hazel eyes searched his face, and Fitz’ hands shook a bit, both with relief and renewed nerves. “There’s still some things we’ll have t’ play by ear, bu’ yeah. If tha’s still what y’ want. I’m in.” 

Jemma hadn’t realized just how tense she’d been ever since their vacation, all of her worries and hopes and fears for the two of them piling up on her as the days had crept by. But now, with Fitz’ shy words, the unseen knot of tension released, and her mouth broke into a wide grin. 

Jemma leaned in and slanted her mouth across Fitz’, certain that there were no words she’d find satisfactory when it came to telling him what she was feeling in that moment. Instead she opted to show him, taking her time and losing herself in the feeling of kissing him without the fear of being rejected looming over her shoulder. “I do, Fitz, I do still want this,” she murmured as she rained kisses down across his cheeks and forehead. “We’ll figure it out as we go, but I want you more than anything.” 

The blinding grin that split her face and the little squeal Jemma let out as she flung herself forward were infinitely reassuring. Fitz wasn’t even sure Jemma was aware of what she was doing once her mouth landed on his, and a moment later he was pretty sure he didn’t care. He’d been jealous of that man in the picture with her in the paper, but he’d not only just gotten that purely happy smile, but Jemma’s kisses and her pressed up against him from chest to knee, clinging tightly. 

His arms found their way around her, hugging her close even as he wrinkled his nose and laughed softly at all her exuberant kisses being pressed over his face. “Jem…” he began, trying to get a word in edgewise, but she found his lips again and cut him off, and Fitz could only laugh against her mouth. “Chris’, woman, is no’ like you’ll never have a chance t’ kiss me again…” 

She had the grace to blush as he teased her, but Jemma couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him, not after waiting for so long to hear his answer. A part of her had been truly afraid that he would ultimately tell her he loved her, but not in the way she had so desperately wanted him to, and so to hear that he was willing to give it an actual chance… it stunned her, to say the least. After the conversation she’d had with her mother, she had nearly given up on the concept as being entirely foolish, but now here he was, proving Vivian wrong. 

“I know, I know,” she murmured, ducking her head against his chest and hiding her face from his gaze. “I just… I’m making up for lost time.” Jemma nuzzled against his collarbone, and placed a quick kiss there. “I know how hard it’s all been for you, for both of us… I was just scared, Fitz.” Her confession was quiet, whispered against his neck and she pressed closer, trying to sink into him. 

His heart skipped at Jemma's admission that she'd been scared. Fitz knew she had been, and that was bad enough, but there was something about hearing the resilient Jemma admit to a weakness that made him feel incredibly guilty for dragging this out so long. Even knowing he honestly didn't know how he felt until just recently, Fitz still felt her hurt and regretted it, part of him wondering if he'd ever have gotten here if she hadn't put her foot down and given him that deadline. 

"I'm sorry, lass. I wouldna have made y' wait so long if I'd been able t' get my head out my arse before now." Fitz ran his hand down her body, wide palm and slender fingers splayed at the small of her back, radiating warmth through her borrowed t-shirt. "'M an idiot t' just be figurin' it out, I know, bu' I'm your idiot, an'..." 

He trailed off, suddenly shy and very glad she wasn’t looking at him, his voice lowering to a whisper. He'd never said it to anyone before, not like this. "I love y'."

The words were so soft, Jemma wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly at first, and after raising her head to look at him, nearly asked Fitz to repeat himself. She only held off on the impulse because of the look in his eye, something that was a cross between fear and hopeful expectation. Instead, she put her mouth to better use and leaned up to kiss him again. 

“I love you, too, Fitz,” she whispered against his lips after breaking off their kiss. “And you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say it.”

“Even though I’m an idio’?” he chuckled and then bit his lip. Was that too lighthearted for the moment? It broke his own tension momentarily, but Fitz worried Jemma wouldn’t appreciate the attempt at levity. “Sorry,” he apologized, ducking his head. “I havena said that t’ anybody in a very long time. An’ never anyone besides my parents.” 

“Hey, no hiding,” Jemma insisted, bringing a hand up to cup his face and direct his gaze toward her. She had thought she’d been in love before, had told a few boys she’d loved them in the heat of moment before she’d learned to differentiate between honest affection and her hormones, but this with Fitz was very, very different. This was mutual trust, respect, and understanding, and she’d never had that, not even with her parents. 

“I’m honored you trust me with that,” she told him honestly, thumb stroking lightly across his cheekbone as her eyes darted across his face, taking in the way his blue eyes sparkled in the early morning light and how he licked his lips, clearly trying to hold his nerves at bay. “And you may be an idiot,” she conceded with a grin, “but you’re mine, and you damn well better believe I’m going to keep you. For as long as you want me, too, that is.” 

Fitz slowly returned the smile as Jemma’s affection registered and then sank into his conscience, turning his face into her hand and letting himself enjoy that sensation more than he usually did. Because he could do that now. “Well, let’s no’ jump t’ the end o’ things already, okay?” he murmured. “We’ve barely even go’ started.” 

He slumped back and down into the couch, drawing Jemma in a little closer as he relaxed. “I know one thing. I was righ’ abou’ the whole datin’ thing. Wha’ a miserable experiment,” Fitz grumbled. “Like I needed any more proof tha’ I am a terrible conversationalis’, and tha’ most people are idiots. Coffee, dinner, movies… I mean, there mus’ be somethin’ wrong with me, tha’ I simply didna enjoy anythin’ about the exercise. Or maybe it was jus’ because I felt like I was wastin’ my time.” 

Jemma’s mouth twisted into a tiny smile as she listened to Fitz speak about his attempts at dating, feeling for her shy friend and knowing how much it took for him to put himself out there. Still, this wasn’t a conversation she would have been capable of having without their conversation that morning. His soft-spoken confession of love went a long way to ease her anxiety when it came to Fitz and other men; she in no way expected his attraction to men to go away, that was simply a matter of biology, but she trusted him to be faithful to her. How could she not, given their history?

“You are not a terrible conversationalist, Fitz,” she countered, frowning a bit and shifting so she could prop her chin on his sternum and still look him in the eye, effectively putting herself on top of him. “If you were, we never would have become friends.” Jemma gave him a sly grin before continuing. “Although, if you’d like to test your hypothesis, I’d be happy to play test subject. A date or two might not go amiss.” 

“Only one or two?” Fitz imitated Jemma’s signature nose wrinkle as he teased her, “Well, tha’s no fair, is i’? I though’ I was gettin’ a girlfriend out of all this.” He shifted to accommodate Jemma’s weight tipping atop his, arms shifting to brace her atop him, the arm he’d been laying on now free to curl around her too. 

While Fitz still had concerns about being with her and how he was going to navigate being with Jemma while still generally being gay, he had to trust her. Even if he didn’t trust himself, Jemma cared for him and she’d always been better at seeing through his distorted emotional thinking patterns than he’d ever been on his own. She’d made being her friend easier than he’d ever thought it could be and FItz was counting on her doing the same with this next iteration of their relationship. 

Without really thinking much of it, Jemma returned the nose wrinkle, lower lip caught between her teeth to hold back a laugh. She quite liked this, being able to lie atop Fitz and tease him after a night out, and was looking forward to having more mornings just like this. Still, she couldn’t let him have the last word. 

“Well, yes, one or two,” she reiterated, putting on a mock-serious expression. “No need to rush into anything here.” That was the end of her being able to hold back her mirth, and she dissolved into giggles. Truthfully, the two of them had spent so much time in each other’s company that the idea of purposefully dating seemed strange, even though she very much wanted to see what it would be like. Besides, she knew they needed that time to ease into this aspect of their relationship. Rushing headlong into any of it, particularly anything decidedly sexual, would be the surest way to tear them apart. 

She levered herself up so she was more fully over him and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “We’ll go on as many dates as you’d like, Fitz. Until we’ve exhausted things to do in London.”

Fitz nearly fell for it, but wasn’t sure she was only teasing until she started giggling. “Jem! Tha’s no nice, teasin’ me like tha’,” he grumbled, but there was no heat to his tone. “Silly lass.” He followed her back when she withdrew, claiming another kiss instead of continuing to mock-argue with her. “There canna be too many places we havena already been. I think we’ve done most o’ the museums an’ such,” he mused aloud when he finally released her mouth. 

“We’ll think of something we haven’t done between the two of us,” Jemma replied, grinning down at him, “and then we’ll go back to the places we really liked twice.” Fitz returned her grin, wide and bright, and pulled her back down to press close against him, where they exchanged soft, sweet kisses until Fitz’ stomach absolutely demanded that they move. 

~*~

Fitz had been right. They had done most things together in London already, having gone to most of the museums and all of the restaurants within a kilometer of both their flats, but still, they were never at a loss for things to do. He even agreed to go to a gala with her, one of her mother’s infamous events, and it had easily been the best one yet. They spent the evening close together, either standing pressed shoulder to shoulder, fingers entwined, as they made polite conversation with the other guests, or moving together on the dance floor when Fitz claimed a slow dance. It was easily the best soiree she’d ever attended, and Jemma didn’t have any issue ignoring her mother’s apparent annoyance when they spoke the next day. 

However, despite all of the exciting things London offered a young couple, Jemma quickly found that her favorite thing they did were Sundays. 

Sundays were spent curled up on the couch, just enjoying being around each other. She read and he fiddled on his laptop, but there was something nice about the quiet domesticity, about the cooking and cleaning and simply being together, that Jemma never even gave a second thought to what else they could be out doing. Home was where Fitz was, and that was more than enough for her. 

Even having already done so much together, Fitz still managed to find things for them to do, and especially new experiences for them both. Knowing Jemma’s fascination with science and learning, a chance sighting of a poster for a wetlands center south of the city caught his attention one afternoon, and after a bit of investigation on the internet, because their next date location. A train ride, a short walk through one of the many small towns in the London suburbs and a day spent peering into tanks and exploring the various science labs at the center had them giggling and exhausted by the time they got back to Jemma’s late that evening. 

Fitz was also craving a shower in the worst way after being in pond water up to his elbows more than once, so when Jemma’s phone rang and she flashed the screen at him, revealing her mother’s name, he made himself scarce by heading for the shower. 

Jemma took a moment, eyes tracking Fitz as he wandered into her bathroom and lips pulled upward in a small, secretive smile. She returned her attention to her mobile once the door had shut, and with a sigh, braced herself to speak with her mother. She had taken the news that she and Fitz were an item as well, or at least what passed for well in the Simmons house hold. That is, she gave Jemma her usual warning against embarrassing the family and then proceeded to behave as if the situation did not exist. 

“Mum!” she greeted, keeping her tone bright. She and Fitz had had a good day, and Jemma had no intention of allowing her mother to ruin it now. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Jemma?” Vivian’s usually steady voice was off, shaky somehow, and Jemma fought off a wave of panic. For as long as she’d been alive, her mother had never wavered in anything, and to hear her do so now raised gooseflesh along her arms and legs. “Jemma, I need you to take a seat. Something’s happened. It’s your father.”

Without thinking, Jemma did as she was bid, collapsing into the nearest armchair as her mother pressed on with her news. 

~*~

She took a moment, staring at the black screen of her mobile as she listened to the shower run. Her father… he was… It was too odd a thought to even consider, utterly surreal, and Jemma had no idea how to even begin processing the news. Feeling like a ship that had broken from its mooring, she pushed up off of her seat and drifted into the now-steamy bathroom. 

Fitz was no more than a dark shadow behind the opaque curtain, and as she watched him scrub himself clean, Jemma wished she could go back to her earlier state of mind. It had been such a good day, the two of them playing with the interactive exhibits and joking with each other. She tried to hold onto that bit of brightness as she sank to sit on the closed toilet, her hand coming up to stifle a sudden sob. 

His head under the steady stream of water from Jemma’s shower, it was only some sixth sense that told Fitz he wasn’t alone in the bathroom. Stilling, listening, he didn’t hear anything, but he was still wary and quite aware he was likely being paranoid as he peeked around the curtain. Instead of a stranger though, he found Jemma had invaded the bathroom - something she’d never done before, in all their time together - and perched on the closed toilet lid. 

Then she looked up at him, giving him the full of her face, eyes red and damp, and Fitz’ heart twisted hard in his chest, panic rising. Aware of his nudity and feeling more than a little self-conscious, he hurriedly shut the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist before opening the curtain and stepping out of the tub. A moment later he’d knelt before her, heedless of the water dripping on her and the floor as he reached for Jemma’s cheek, thumb stroking over her cheekbone. 

“Jemma? Jemma, wha’s wrong?” he questioned, worried by her silence and distant expression. 

Eyes slipping shut the moment Fitz’ fingers brushed against her cheek, Jemma leaned into the gentle touch and allowed her tears to fall more freely. Her own hand came up to hold his in place, and she turned her head to place a kiss to his palm before she dared open her eyes to look at him once more. His image was blurred with the thick formation of tears along her bottom lashes, which somehow made it more difficult to speak freely with him, so she allowed her eyes to close once more before speaking. 

“It’s… it’s my dad,” she whimpered, barely managing to force the words past her lips. Jemma was torn as to whether or not she should be telling Fitz this much. She knew that he didn’t feel comfortable with her father, that the older man had made it clear just how he disapproved of Fitz, and she was certain that if her mother had let slip about the latest development in her relationship with the Scot… well, suffice it to say, she would have been ejected from her flat. Still, despite his numerous faults, Elliott Simmons was still her father, and the news her mother had delivered had been a blow to her. 

“He was in a car accident, very early this morning. He… wasn’t alone.” Jemma swallowed heavily, drawing strength from the gentle way Fitz was brushing away the tears that were still falling down her face, catching them before they could strike the cool tile floor. “He was with the mother of one of my sister’s friends. Mum said she was driving, and there was alcohol involved.” 

She forced a sigh from her lips and opened her eyes to look at him, well aware that she must look an absolute fright after crying so hard. Looking at Fitz, his blue eyes shining with concern, Jemma was glad of the certainty that he would never put her through something like this, and there was a sad twist to her lips as she spoke. “Mum wasn’t even concerned with that, that he’d been caught with another woman. She was just glad they hadn’t killed anyone, and that the crash was secluded enough that there weren’t any photos. Never mind that they put him into an induced coma, she's just glad it's not in the bloody papers"

She pressed another kiss to his palm before reaching out to run her fingers along his damp fringe of hair. “I can’t imagine living like that,” she murmured, voice going flat as she tried to mentally divorce herself from the entire situation. 

Fitz’ heart sank, understanding the tears as soon as she mentioned something happened to her father. While Fitz didn’t like the man, he was still Jemma’s father and he knew she cared about the older man. Unsure what exactly she needed, he searched her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears and steadying her long enough for Jemma to say what she needed to say. 

He hadn’t expected the twist to the story, the knowledge that Elliott had been apparently cheating on Vivian, and worse, that Vivian didn’t seem to care beyond the potential scandal. It didn’t surprise him - he’d never seen evidence in the few times he’d met Jemma’s parents that they had an especially warm marriage - but that was even colder and more heartless than Fitz had suspected. He’d never understand how they’d turned out someone as warm and empathetic and compassionate as Jemma, although perhaps that was explanation in itself - she’d become the antithesis of her socialite parents. 

Jemma reaching out for him broke the hesitation he felt, and Fitz drew her forward and leaned up to press his forehead to hers, “I’m sorry, lass.”

The points of contact between them were few, but tender, sending a fresh stream of tears to Jemma’s eyes, which had slipped shut as soon as Fitz had leaned in to her. With him near, she did her best to block out everything else, the worry over her father’s condition, the surprise and odd sense of betrayal at his cheating and her mother’s reaction, and tried to just focus on Fitz. 

She could feel the dampness of his hair pressed against her forehead, and the droplets of water that had been clinging to his fingertips as they mingled with her tears only to be wiped away by the steadiness of his hands. Jemma brought her own arms around him, despite the position being awkward, and held herself near, trying to lose herself in the feeling of the heat leeching off Fitz’ skin as his voice soothed her. He was using a tone that she had never heard before, gentle and dripping in care, and her heart shuddered a bit in response. She knew Fitz had never particularly cared for her family, but his response… She had readily believed him before, but now Jemma had all the proof she needed that Fitz loved her, that while they had and would have their ups and downs, their relationship would never be fraught the way her parents’ was. 

“I just…” she swallowed, trying to get her mind around the words. “I’m a terrible daughter. I’m not sure if I’m more worried about his health, or pissed that he would do something like this to my mum.”

Fitz hadn’t pulled her into a hug, conscious of still being wet from the shower and not wanting to get her mussed. Jemma clearly didn’t care though, and even though their respective positions made it awkward, he shifted to wrap his arms around and return her hold. Rubbing gentle circles on her back, he tried his best to soothe her. “Them bein’ good parents is arguable, bu’ you’re no’ a terrible daughter, Jem. I promise,” he reassured. “An’ no’ that I’m a fan of your father or that I’m condonin’ him cheatin’, but your mum clearly has known and didna say anythin’. Tha’s between them, lass.” 

He drew back a little, trying to get a look at Jemma’s face. “What do y’ want t’ do, lass? I know y’ said they put him in a coma, but… do y’ want t’ go home?” Fitz had never been to Jemma’s childhood home and honestly had no desire to, but he also wouldn’t leave Jemma to her mother unless he had no other choice. Especially not in a situation like this, when he couldn’t trust she’d have anyone to care for her. 

Jemma scoffed, face tucked against Fitz’ shoulder, as she clung a little more tightly. “I asked if they needed me… all she’d say was, ‘Don’t bother. We don’t need a scene here.’” If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have recognized that response as being perfectly in line with her mother’s primary concerns, but as it was, Jemma was simply having too much difficulty processing it all. She shook her head slightly, trying to get a better grip on everything, and took a deep breath in. 

Fitz’ scent hit her, warm and clean from the shower, and it made it that much easier for Jemma to begin to sort through what she could address and what she couldn’t. Pulling back slightly, she realized he was still clad in just a towel, the little rivulets of water running over him carrying the slightest hint of suds, and blushed. “I interrupted your shower… I’m sorry,” Jemma murmured, scrubbing her shirt sleeve over her face and giving him an apologetic quirk of her lips. The action only served to remind her that she, too, had been nearly hip-deep in pond water for a good portion of the day, and she wrinkled her nose as the smell of dried aquatic vegetation hit her nostrils. It was a sour counterpoint to the clean scent that had clung to Fitz. 

“I think I could use one myself.” She met Fitz’ eyes and gave him a slightly pleading expression. “Once that’s done, can we just lay in bed for a while? Maybe talk?”

“Okay. Tha’s okay, lass. Give it a day or so. She’s dealin’ with a lot right now, too,” Fitz said, thinking more reasonably than Jemma was about her mother at the moment. “Vivian’s still got your sisters t’ take care of too, while this is goin’ on.” He let her draw away when she needed to, and blushed faintly at Jemma’s appraisal when her hazel eyes swept down his body. Fitz knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, but he also felt a little awkwardly on display - this moment did feel like something out of a romantic comedy. 

Still, he nodded at her, “An’ your shirt’s wet now.” It wasn’t revealing anything, but once that water cooled, she was going to be damp and uncomfortable. “Go on, lass. It willna take me more than a few minutes t’ finish up and y’ can have your turn.” Fitz nodded toward the door and got to his feet, careful to make sure his towel didn’t shift inappropriately. They were still carefully navigating into the physical aspects of their relationship and the last thing he wanted was to overstep those boundaries - for his own sake, if not for hers. Jemma would likely be more than happy to move faster than Fitz was allowing for, but she respected his hesitation and Fitz appreciated that enough to try not to make things more difficult. 

Keeping her eyes averted, Jemma gave a small nod and stood from her seat and ducked out the door, shutting it softly behind her. She paused for a moment, listening for the sound of the curtain sliding back and forth as Fitz resumed his shower before she stripped out of her now-damp clothing. Tugging her robe tight around her, she jammed her clothing to the bottom of her hamper, trying not to think of her father. 

Elliott Simmons was, to put it best, a compartmentalized man. Handled business at the office, kept his friendships at the gentleman’s club, and kept his family at home. Sometimes, when needed, he trotted out his wife and daughters, but everything fit in its neat little area, nothing out of place. Jemma could only assume the same was true of his mistress (mistresses? who was to say he stopped at just one?), until the woman had had one glass of expensive champagne too many and crashed her father’s very nice silver coupe. 

Just then, the bathroom door opened, revealing a freshly showered Fitz. Jemma roused herself from her thoughts long enough to give him a quick smile, and pressed a kiss to his cheek as she passed him in the doorway, before slipping into the shower herself. 

Fitz hurried through his shower. Not that it ever really took him long in the first place, but he was spoiled and sometimes lingered under the hot water, letting it wash away tension and anxiety, along with the dirt and smells he tracked home. This time he didn’t let himself do that, giving himself a sketchy wash and quickly scrubbing his hair, thoughts on Jemma all the while. He didn’t like Elliott Simmons in the slightest, and why should he, given the man’s instant dislike of him for his socioeconomic status? But Jemma - Jemma he cared about, and this affected her. 

He was selfishly glad he wasn’t going to have to brave the Simmons’ compound in Devon, but that didn’t mean the next little while was going to be easy. All he could do was be there for her, but as Fitz was coming to realize, he was okay with that. And better at it than he gave himself credit for. 

The smile Jemma gave him as she slid into the loo was tight and mostly forced, her eyes sad and missing their usual sparkle, and Fitz just barely resisted stopping her for another hug before she shut the door firmly behind her. It was probably for the best to let her have a few minutes more to settle, but he didn’t have to like it. Instead he tugged on lounge pants and a t-shirt and puttered around Jemma’s kitchen, making tea and something for her to nibble on. He knew better than to think she’d be able to eat a meal at the moment, but at least apple slices and peanut butter would be a halfway acceptable snack. 

The tray was sitting on her bed when she eventually came out of the other room, Fitz tucked into her armchair with his laptop. He set it aside at the sight of her, on his feet before he really thought about it, and crossed the space between them to draw her into a hug. “Y’ okay, baby girl?” 

Fitz was solid against her, warm and reassuring, and Jemma easily curled her arms around him, her eyes slipping shut as she buried her face in his chest. She shook her head a bit, causing her damp braid to brush against her shoulder blades. “Not okay,” she whispered. She felt… adrift, more than anything. She’d cried a bit more in the shower, but eventually the warring emotions had drained along with the soapy water, and Jemma felt surprisingly neutral. 

Logically, her father was okay for now, in stable condition and being monitored by what she was sure was the best doctors her mother’s money could buy. She couldn’t do any more for him, and her tears certainly wouldn’t do him any good. That thought alone was what kept them at bay as she’d dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top and braided her hair. Now, with Fitz’ arms around her, it felt less like hollowness and more like acceptance. 

Jemma pulled back to look up at Fitz, her hand coming up as well so she could run her thumb along his cheek, and she managed a somewhat authentic smile for him. “With you here, I will be, though.” The corners of her mouth twitched a bit higher as she looked away from him, eyes lighting on the snack he’d left her on her usual side of the bed. 

“Fitz,” she softly cooed, reaching for his hands and tugging him toward the bed with her, “thank you. Come sit with me while I eat?” She felt like she was playing dirty, but she gave him her best pleading look. She didn’t expect Fitz to deny her, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to keep him close, and wasn’t above begging Fitz to get her way. 

“I know - silly question,” Fitz admitted with a little chuckle when she buried herself in his chest. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Jemma drew back a few moments later. Her eyes were red from her previous tears and still dark and sad, but she seemed to have reached some sort of peace with the news for the time being. Her comment about him being there seemed to have an underlying meaning though, as did the way she pled with him to stay at her side. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Jem,” he said with a shake of his head at her silliness. 

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for them to get situated on Jemma’s bed, with Fitz laid across his usual side, Jemma sat cross-legged up against her pillows to safely eat and drink before. Fitz curled his hand lazily around Jemma’s foot where it rested near him, wanting to keep a point of contact and his fingers offhandedly rubbing her arch. “Y’ might want t’ text Dr. Singh, too. Let him know y’ might need a day or two off if y’ have t’ go out t’ Devon,” he quietly suggested. It would be one less thing for her to worry over. If Singh knew Jemma might need to go, he’d make arrangements for someone to cover the shifts, just in case. 

“Hmm, I think not,” she hummed, sucking a bit of peanut butter off her thumb before setting her plate to the side. She glanced sideways at Fitz as she took a final sip of her tea before setting it to the side, too, and lying down herself. Jemma tucked herself against him and explained further. “Just, not now at least. Mum and Dr. Singh are… not quite friends, but they do run somewhat in the same circles, what with London Bridge being one of her pet projects.”

Jemma craned her neck up to look at Fitz from her prone position against his chest. “I’ll need to find something to tell him about why I need time off. I don’t want to lie to him, but I don’t want to fuel any speculation, either. Besides,” she shrugged, “it may be entirely unnecessary. He may come out of his coma soon, or Mum may well refuse to let me go home. I’ll think of something in the meantime, but I think the best play is to just wait and see.”

“But y’...” Fitz started to protest Jemma’s intentions, but who was he to say? It wasn’t like he was close to any of his family to have an idea of what Jemma was going through at the moment. Perhaps he would be better off not making suggestions based on his own limited experiences. 

This wasn’t about him, it was about her and her father and Fitz struggled for a moment to remember that Jemma wasn’t trying to jab at him. She was only explaining why his suggestion was being rejected, even though it stung him a bit. Jemma needed to do what she felt was best, and Fitz’ role was to support her. If he could keep that in the forefront of his mind, it would be okay. 

“Alright, lass,” Fitz reluctantly agreed, “If tha’s what y’ think is best, tha’s what y’ should go with.” Jemma was on her back, Fitz on his side and pressed in close to her side, and he slowly draped his arm over Jemma’s belly, his chin on her shoulder. “Just tell me if there’s anythin’ I can do t’ help.” 

There was something in his tone that tugged at Jemma’s attention, and she turned her head to face him, only to end up with a face full of curls. Wrinkling her nose at the ticklish sensation and grinning more than a bit, Jemma pressed a kiss there before snuggling further down into him. 

“You just being here helps, Fitz,” she murmured, lightly running her fingers along the arm he’d draped over her. The weight was slight, but warm and reassuring, and Jemma snugged the arm about her a bit more as she settled in her new position. “I mean it. This,” she gestured to the now empty plate and mug, his hold on her, “is infinitely more reassuring than any words. You’re here. With me. That’s what matters.”

He relaxed a bit at her reassurance, feeling like he wasn’t messing things up quite as badly as he’d initially thought. Of course, his own issues bled over into that, making him uncertain in the first place. Jemma shifted against him and Fitz adjusted to make more room for her, tucking the arm he was laying on up under the pillow and drawing her in closer. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Jem,” he promised. 

Not that he had anywhere to go for the moment, with his project on hold, but even if he did, Fitz would do his best to be there for her.


	29. Chapter 29

Fitz spent the next week fussing over Jemma and working on some of his other ideas and designs that had gone on hold while he designed the new fuel system. But as though his thoughts had translated into some sort of karma, he finally received an email from the grant manager giving him the plan for the rest of the project. 

Curled cross-legged on Jemma’s couch, Fitz let out a quiet exclamation as he skimmed the letter, stunned that a known airplane manufacturer had agreed to test his fuel system on a new set of carbon fiber business jets. However he kept reading and his expression fell as he saw the rest of the terms. It was terribly exciting and a wonderful opportunity for Fitz, but the timing was terrible and that alone tangled up his emotions about it. 

Still, there was no chance he could say no. With that name behind his design, if he made everything work as planned, it would make Fitz’ career. Hell - he might have enough money after this to not even need a career. Fitz could work on what he wanted, when he wanted, which was perfect for his particular projects. Even so that didn’t resolve the bottom line of what the letter detailed: starting in the next week and for the foreseeable future, he would have to move to Germany. 

After seven days with Fitz’ full attention on her, and a few well-timed calls from her sister, Addy, Jemma was feeling stronger. Her father was still in the induced coma, but the doctors in Devon were hopeful, and the prognosis was good, from what her family disclosed to her. So, when she saw Fitz silently pump a fist in the air while cooking dinner one night, she couldn’t help but smile. 

For the second time in their nearly year-long friendship, they had spent a full week together, and Jemma was yet again pleased by how well the experiment had gone. Even with the romantic tinge to them now, they had easily slipped into a routine, divvying up chores and invading each other’s space. Fitz, for all he professed to know nothing about relationships or a domestic life, had done astoundingly well, pampering her as she needed it and encouraging her to take her mind off things, and as the week had gone on, Jemma found herself forgetting all of the objections that had ever been raised to the two of them being together. 

“Good news?” she asked, peeking her head through the door frame as she stirred the red sauce she was making. She knew he’d been going a bit stir crazy, even between her and his pet projects, and was hopeful he’d heard something about his work on the fuel cells. Moving carefully, she dipped a spoon into the pot, and cradling her hand beneath it, carried it over to where Fitz was sitting. “Here, first taste this. Tell me what it’s missing, then tell me what’s got you fist pumping.” 

Jemma seemed to have missed the moment when he realized the email wasn’t all good news, but Fitz dutifully tasted the proffered sauce, letting it settle on his tongue for a moment to fully taste it. “Yeah, I see why you’re askin’,” he mused. It was good, but not quite right. “A little salt, I think. And somethin’ t’ make it a bit spicier?” 

Fitz hesitated, glancing back at the laptop screen and sighing. “Go finish that up - set it t’ simmer or whatever y’ have t’ do, then c’mere. We’ve got t’ talk about this.” For the first time in his entire life, Fitz had something - someone - he was going to miss when he left a place, and it was making him sad. He’d known this was a possibility, but he’d never thought it would happen so fast. 

Fitz seemed, for lack of a better word, guarded, when he spoke to her, setting Jemma’s nerves on edge. It hadn’t happened often as of late, but there were times, particularly when talking about his past, that he got this way, and it always put her on alert. Instead of answering, however, she just nodded and used her time in the kitchen to collect herself. She sprinkled in a bit more salt, as Fitz had requested, along with tossing in another bay leaf and some more basil, before lowering the heat and leaving it to simmer. Content that the sauce would be fine without her watching over it for a few minutes, Jemma slipped back into the sitting area.

He was still absorbed in his laptop, eyes focused on the screen, although he did look up when he saw her from the corner of his eye. Jemma found the smile he gave her reassuring, although it wasn’t the bright one he usually reserved just for her, and easily crossed the room to fold herself into the sofa, her shoulder pressed against Fitz’. “So,” she began, her hand slipping to rest lightly on his thigh, just below where his laptop rested on his knees, “what did you want to talk about?”

“I... I have t’ leave London for a while,” he said slowly, still processing the news in his own head. “There’s an aerospace company in Germany that wants t’ use my design, but I have t’ go out there t’ be on hand while they’re buildin’ the thing.” Fitz’ blue eyes were still fixed on the email and the notes about the arrangements that had already been made for him. Just about the only thing that wasn’t yet done was to book a flight late next week - he needed to be there and ready to work by the following Monday. 

He bit his lip as he turned toward Jemma. If he’d known he was going to have to leave just when they were starting to figure things out… That was a futile thought, and Fitz knew it. He halfway considered that he’d have told her no, but at the same time he knew he wouldn’t have forgiven himself for missing what might have been his only chance to see where this might go. “They need me in Munich by the start o’ next week,” Fitz continued, his voice careful and mostly flat. “I’m sorry, lass.” 

Her fingers, which had been absentmindedly picking at the seam of his jeans, stilled, and Jemma found herself fighting down the urge to panic. 

She wanted good things for Fitz. That was a simple truth. He was her best friend, and best friends supported each other in all of their endeavors, even if those endeavors took them out of the country. He has a right to his career, same as you have a right to yours, a tiny voice reminded her, but that didn’t make any of this easier. This home life they had developed in a little over a week… even without anything more physical than cuddling and exchanging kisses, Jemma knew giving it up would eat at her terribly. Not to mention, it could absolutely obliterate any chance they might have to explore what, exactly, they meant to each other. 

Being in love only went so far, after all. It couldn’t cure everything, much less shrink a distance of 1100 kilometers to something far more manageable.

“How long is a while?” she asked, voice soft and eyes trained on the keyboard of his laptop, hoping it would keep him from seeing the panic and sorrow rising in her eyes. 

He was upset, too, wondering how he was going to tolerate not having her around again. After everything with William over the winter, and how he’d fallen apart after his fight with Jemma, Fitz wasn’t entirely sure it was the best idea, but what choice did he have? If his ideas were never implemented, they’d be nothing more than ideas and he surely didn’t trust some other engineer to be mucking around with his design during the construction phase. If adjustments needed to be made, he needed to make them. 

Everything was circling in his head, rattling through details of things he needed to do before he had to go, but the quiet, almost desperate tone to Jemma’s voice drew his attention immediately. “A couple of months, a’ least,” he admitted. Fitz couldn’t read her expression, and he reached over, fingers hovering over her arm for a long moment before he finally touched her. “Is no’ forever, lass. I’m comin’ back eventually.” 

Fitz’ thumb ran a slow arc over her skin, once, and twice again before he set the laptop aside and fully turned her way, his knee pressed against hers. “Is no’ like we canna still call an’ text an’ email each other. Or tha’ we canna visit. Is only a couple hours on a plane, the train might take a while, bu’ there’s tha’, too.” 

Jemma forced herself to look up at him, nodding slowly as she did so. His words made sense, and if they planned properly, there was no reason why they couldn’t see each other at least once a month while he was away. Still… she’d grown spoiled by having him around, and wasn’t quite ready to give that up, although it seemed like she’d have to do so. It’d be selfish to beg him to stay, particularly after he’d been so supportive of her career choices. He deserved the same. 

She wanted to be close to him, though, and clambered into Fitz’ lap, her arm coming around the small of his back to press herself close. Craning her neck up, she pressed a line of kisses to his jaw before tucking her head beneath his chin. “We’ll figure it out, one way or another.” 

While the words were soft, they rang true for Jemma. They had come through so much just to get to this point, and she was confident that neither she nor Fitz would just give up on them now. 

“O’ course we will,” Fitz said quietly, tilting his face down against her hair when she settled in against him. He slid his arms around her, looping comfortably at Jemma’s waist. “Even if is six months or a year - which I dinna think will happen unless I’m workin’ with complete idiots - we’ll be okay. I willna accept anythin’ else, an’ tha’s that.” 

Fitz gave Jemma an affectionate little buss at her temple and a gentle squeeze. He didn’t like how vulnerable and sad she seemed all the sudden. “I dinna make promises lightly, Jem, bu’ I promise tha’, okay?” 

~*~

Jemma resolved to make the most of their last week together, instead of allowing herself to get bogged down in her own illogical fears about what this would mean for their relationship. Instead, she made sure that they spent as much time together as they could. When she wasn’t on shift, she ran around helping Fitz tie up loose ends, making sure that he had all of the last minute things he needed and his kitchen was clear of perishables. He had worked out an agreement with his professor that he would continue renting the small cottage while he was out of town, and Jemma had promised that she’d check in on the place from time to time to make sure nothing was out of place. 

Overall, the week held an air of barely-repressed sadness for her, although her mirth was genuine when they had to go shopping for suits. The one Fitz had hanging in the back of his closet hadn’t fit him properly, and Jemma had insisted that he needed more than one anyway, if he was going to be working with a potential long-term employer. She’d had fun watching him pick and try different cuts and colors and patterns, and had made a mental note as they exited the haberdashery to find more dates that would require Fitz to make use of one of them. 

Eventually, though, they had to say goodbye. Jemma accompanied him to Heathrow, and lingered with him just beyond the security check point, their fingers laced together. “Call me when you land, please,” she asked, looking him directly in the eye. “Just so I know you made it there safely.” 

Fitz hadn’t thought he had nearly so much he needed to do before he left beyond cleaning up his apartment, packing, and asking Jemma and his landlord to keep an eye on the place while he was gone. Jemma kept finding more things though and Fitz went along, understanding it was her way of handling the anxiety from him leaving. 

As the week went by, he was excited and scared and nervous by turns about his project and its odds for success, but the unhappiness about leaving Jemma and London lingered. This was the first place he’d felt at home since he was a child, and Jemma’s presence in his life made it so much better. Maintaining their relationship at a distance was theoretically possible, but Fitz wasn’t sure how happy either of them would be with it. 

Jemma clung to his hand on the ride out to the airport, and Fitz gratefully twined his fingers with hers. He’d deliberately chosen a flight in the late afternoon when Jemma had to work. She’d have time to see him off, but then go to work and let that distract her from the immediate loss. In a way too, Fitz was glad they’d taken the trip to Skye, since this would only be his second time on a plane, and the first time alone. 

He had so many reasons to be anxious at that moment, but eventually he looked at the clock and sighed. “I will, lass,” Fitz agreed, drawing Jemma in for a tight hug and a quick kiss. “If I’m no’ allowed t’ fall apart while I’m gone, you’re no’ either, okay? I love y’.” 

Jemma nodded, still pressed up on her toes, and kissed him once more before dropping back onto her heels. “I promise, I’ll do my best. I love you, too.” She gave him a smile and squeezed his fingers before letting her hand fall away and nodding him toward the security line. It was hell watching him walk away, but she held her ground, and even managed to give him a bright smile once he was through and nodded to her from the far side. 

Once he was out of sight, Jemma sighed, feeling her shoulders drop now that she felt less pressure to put on a happy face for Fitz, and meandered toward the Underground. Perhaps, she mused, as she stepped onto the platform, she’d see about going to Devon in the upcoming weeks. Enough time had passed since the accident that it shouldn’t cause the stir her mother had feared, and she should see her father. Content that she had a plan in place, Jemma found herself relaxing on the ride back into London as she began to try to put all her ducks in a row. 

Fitz moped through the wait to board his plane, but the flight distracted him enough that he managed not to get too far into his own head. Upon arrival in Munich though, he couldn’t get signal on his phone in the terminal, so he wasn’t able to call her until he’d picked up the rental car - pleased to find the company had reserved him a sporty little BMW coupe - and gotten on the road. 

He sighed when he got Jemma’s voicemail, but Fitz knew her shift had already started. She was probably with a patient or in a part of the building where she didn’t have signal either. He left a brief voicemail, saying he’d made it okay and was making the drive out to the little town he’d be staying in, and for her to call when she was free. 

From the moment she set foot in the hospital, Jemma was busy. Singh handed her a stack of new patient intakes to be completed, so between those and the patients she’d already been tending to, she barely had a moment to think of herself, let alone time to linger on Fitz. Although, she did make sure to check the clock, and once she knew he should have been on the ground, she began checking her phone every few minutes, hoping for the little notification that she had a new SMS. 

Eventually, sometime near two in the morning, the work had quieted enough that Jemma was able to sneak into the doctor’s lounge for a short break. She smiled as she listened to his voicemail, not realizing just how comforting she found his voice, and shook her head a bit at his request that she call as soon as she could, preferably before she left A&E. She glanced at the clock, debating whether or not she should call; it was awfully late, and he’d need to be at his best in the morning. On the other hand, knowing Fitz, he’d be spitting mad if she didn’t try to get a hold of him in some way. 

Pulling the mobile from her ear, Jemma tapped out a quick text. 

Fitz [02:11]: Just got your message. Are you awake?

Fitz had gotten to Hausen well enough, and blessed that someone had the foresight to give him bilingual directions and a landlady with enough English to get him by - his German was spotty at best. The little studio flat was about the same size as Jemma’s, back at home, but not nearly so well-appointed. Fitz let the older woman - she looked like someone’s television Grandma - show him through the place, just wanting to settle in for the night. 

Thankfully there was an internet connection, although it was hardwired rather than wireless, and Fitz could probably fix the finicky hot water tap she’d pointed out. It was livable at least, private, and seemed to be quiet enough, at the end of a residential street that appeared to back up to woods. He’d take a better look at the area in daylight with a map and get his bearings of exactly where he was and how to get about. 

The bed wasn’t terrible either, but Fitz never did sleep well the first night or two in an unfamiliar place. And he’d gotten spoiled lately, having Jemma with him most of the time at his place or hers. When her text came in, buzzing his phone in the wee hours of the morning, he was dozing more than sleeping, and tapped the call and speaker buttons rather than fumble through typing a reply. Setting the phone next to his head, he waited for her to pick up. 

She had sat down at a table to leaf through a trashy tabloid that was three months out of date when her mobile buzzed to life before her, causing Jemma to jump. She grinned when she saw his name on the caller ID and immediately answered, pressing the handset to her ear. 

“Hi, Fitz!” Jemma was so excited to hear from him that she had to fight to keep her voice from going too shrill and piercing his ear drums. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick up earlier. It was a bit of a madhouse here.” 

His own voice was slow and sleepy, but pleased that she sounded so upbeat. “Is okay. The cell signal at the airport was crap, so I couldna catch y’ before y’ went on shift. Everythin’ is okay, then?” Fitz snuggled deeper into his pillow, feeling a bit more settled just hearing her voice. 

“Yeah, yeah, it is.” Hearing his sleepier tone, Jemma automatically adjusted, speaking to him in not much more than a whisper. She might have been sitting in a brightly lit break room, but her mind was a few thousand kilometers away, snuggled into bed with him in Munich. “Crazy, but I’ll survive. How is everything there? The apartment’s nice?”

“Is okay,” he murmured, “For a rental. They gave me a nice car though - is an M4. I’ll have t’ try no’ t’ get any speedin’ tickets.” Fitz chuckled, half under his breath, knowing that given half a chance - especially if this area had the sort of back roads he suspected, he would spend some time playing with the car. 

“Uh oh,” she teased, “boys and their toys. At least they knew who they were hiring, huh?” Jemma could just imagine Fitz speeding around German roads, a look of unadulterated joy on his face as he pushed the car to its limits. “When I come visit, you’ll have to promise to take me on a ride.” 

Fitz grinned on the other end of the line at the suggestion. “Who are y’ kiddin’, lass? You’ll be fussin’ at me t’ slow down if I drive over the speed limit,” he teased. And he wouldn’t drive too recklessly with her in the car, either. “Besides, tha’s if they even let me have much time off t’ do what I want. I dinna know these people or what they’re expectin’ yet.” 

Jemma could hear his voice slow further, and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was pushing 2:30, and he’d have to be up early. “You’ll know after tomorrow, right? Let me know then, and we can plan something, even if it’s a ways down the road. But now…” she hesitated, not wanting to hang up, but knowing he needed to get some sleep and she needed to get back on the floor. “Now, try to sleep, Fitz. You have to be at your best tomorrow, and I need to get back on the floor.”

“Alrigh’, lass.” Fitz sighed softly, but Jemma was at work and had things she needed to do. And she was right that he’d need to be on his toes tomorrow. 

They said their goodbyes and Fitz ended the call, sliding into an easier sleep. 

The next week was spent settling in and meeting his new coworkers. Fitz was completely unsurprised to find there was a group of older engineers and technicians who resented his youth and relative inexperience, but they were thankfully the minority. Everyone else seemed pleased with him, or at worst, ambivalent, as long as he showed up and did his job. 

And as it turned out, there was a good reason for the rush to get him to Germany. The company was just starting construction on a new set of prototypes. It was either get the new system integrated with these designs or wait two years for the next development phase to begin. Fitz’ design was meant to be scalable, but the carbon-fiber construction of these planes necessitated some other adjustments he’d never thought to account for. 

It caused him no little frustration and headaches as he studied the drawings and schematics for the prototypes. Their designers hadn’t planned on a new technology being included either, and he butted heads with them more than once with his questions and concerns about the integration of the two. If it wasn’t for his daily calls with Jemma, and the bi-weekly ones with Dr. Thornton, his frustration level would be impossible to deal with. Between the two of them, they talked him down and reminded him to focus on the end results. 

By the third week, Fitz was feeling like the worst of the interpersonal issues had been put to rest, and everyone was focused on what needed to be done. The head developer finally filled Fitz in on their timeline, and he was relieved to know that they needed the designs done and the planes well into production before Christmas. Depending on how things went, he could theoretically be back in London by early December and only needed in Germany occasionally through the remaining development period, and returning for another stretch in the spring when the planes went into their testing phases. 

On the phone with Jemma that night, he let her know the timeline as well, and his hopes for coming home by December. 

Jemma had mistakenly thought that the most difficult part of Fitz’ being away would be the lack of physical presence. Even before they had begun sharing a bed, she had grown used to invading his space in tiny ways, leaning against him on the train, or pressing against his shoulder when they were out in a crowded space, so she had expected that to be the biggest adjustment for her. 

Instead, she quickly found that what she found most difficult was the fact that she couldn’t be there to help him through his frustrations. Yes, she did her best to be available on the phone and let him vent, but she wished she could be there to brush his hair back or cook him a meal or just give him a hug. Not being able to help him hurt her more than anything, so when he told her that he was hopeful he’d be home in time for the holiday season, her mouth broke into a wide grin. 

“That’s great, Fitz! We can still do our Christmas dinner then!” It was certainly premature to be planning Christmas in early October, but they both needed a goal, something to look forward to, to keep the weariness of the daily grind at bay. When they hung up, Jemma felt lighter than she had in ages, and easily slipped into a dreamless sleep that evening. 

~*~

The insistent buzzing of his phone woke Fitz one night nearly a week later, and he blearily fumbled across the mattress for it. Figuring it for a wrong number, he blinked at the sight of Jemma’s smiling face on the screen and hurriedly answered. 

“Jem? Wha’s wrong?” he gritted into the phone, sitting up against the headboard and trying to rub the sleep from his face. They’d just talked a few hours ago before he’d crawled into bed. She wouldn’t be calling at 4am unless something happened. His heart thudded in his chest when there was a long beat of silence, suddenly panicked. Had something happened to her? “Are y’ okay?” 

As soon as she heard his voice, Jemma let loose a sob that echoed off the high ceilings of her apartment. She’d held herself together, afraid to collapse under the weight of her news, until she felt safe. Just the sound of his voice, even thick with sleep and confusion, was enough to give her that. 

“My… my…” Jemma shut her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “My father… he just… they... the doctors got to him in time, but they…” Jemma let out a softer gasp as tears ran down her face. “They lost him. Twice. They revived him, but… he wasn’t supposed to have a heart attack. Nothing indicated he was susceptible…”

The news had been enough to shake even Vivian. Jemma had heard the tears in her mother’s voice when she called her an hour ago. That had scared her more than anything; if it had been enough to shake the iron will of Vivian Simmons, it was serious. “And the worst part, the worst part is,” she pressed on, babbling through her tears, “is that I’m stuck here. I can’t even get home to see him for another three days.”

The sound of her sobbing into the phone brought him into sharp awareness, but Fitz still struggled to understand what she was telling him through the tears and her soft, gasped words. His heart sank when he finally got it, frustrated with the distance between them. 

“Shite. I’m so sorry, lass,” he murmured, voice soft and hopefully soothing. “Is a good sign tha’ his heart was healthy though, right? That i’ could have been a fluke, just somethin’ that happened durin’ his recovery? What are his doctors sayin’?” Fitz tried to divert her thoughts onto something positive about the situation, that even though it looked bad, the odds were that Elliott Simmons would be just fine. 

“That they’re lucky they were able to bring him back. It came on so quickly…” Jemma sighed, her breathing returning to something resembling normal. Her tears wouldn’t stop, but Fitz’ questions had at least forced her mind to work somewhat logically, instead of running on in a blind panic. 

“Mum says he’s resting now, thankfully, and they’re monitoring him closely. Their best guess is that the stress from being in the accident, along with his physical therapy and the little bit of office work he was permitted to do from his bed caused it.” She swiped at her tears a bit and continued. “He’ll be mad as anything, but they’ll take the paperwork from him. Cut beef, butter, and all that from his diet as well.”

Focusing on the problem the way she would as if her father were her own patient helped a bit, but the sting from the kind of desperate fear she felt at the idea of losing one of her parents remained. “It’s selfish of me to even say this, but I really wish you were here. I need a hug more than anything.”

He could almost hear Jemma’s brain click into gear, and the knot in his stomach loosened just a little when she sounded less panicked and more like Dr. Simmons when she responded to his question. “Even with all tha’, lass, your father’s a stubborn arse. I canna see even a heart attack bringin’ him down for long,” Fitz said, trying to lighten her mood, at least a little, even if it was to scold him. 

Jemma’s last comment though… Fitz sighed at that. “I wish I was there, too. I know there’s probably nothin’ I can do but give y’ a hug, bu’ still.” He’d been intending to come home and surprise her next weekend, on the anniversary of the day they’d met, but… Fitz’ brain hurriedly scrambled over what was on the agenda at work that day. It wasn’t ideal timing, but he could make it work. 

Quietly sliding over to his computer, he sat down and logged into the console, trying not to let Jemma hear that he was typing. It was just after 4am. If he left here by 5, he could be in Munich by 6:30 and on a 7am flight back to London. Wincing slightly at the cost, he booked the ticket as he continued the conversation with Jemma. An email to the production supervisor at the airfield followed that. Taking a day or two off wouldn’t hurt anything at this point, even if it meant he’d have to cancel the surprise trip for next weekend to be here those days instead. 

“No, no he’s not the type to stay down for long at all.” The mental imagine Fitz had incidentally conjured, that of Elliott Simmons sitting up in his hospital bed, ordering nurses and doctors about, made her smile. Her father could be a right pain in the arse, and she was sure he’d be giving them all hell as soon as he felt strong again. 

Now that her fear had drained, all Jemma felt was tired. She glanced at her bedside clock, and winced when she saw the hour. “I think what I need now more than anything is sleep,” she admitted, yawning a bit as she stretched out across her mattress. “Mum actually called the hospital to tell me. She couldn’t get me on my mobile, so she called Dr. Singh directly. God,” she exclaimed with an exasperated sigh, “he saw me break down, Fitz. He sent me home. So much for being able to hold it together under pressure, huh?”

“You’re human, Jem. Singh knows tha’,” Fitz said immediately. “I dinna think he’ll hold it against y’ for cryin’ when y’ got bad news about your father.” She was out of sorts, he reminded himself, and still not thinking very well. “Go on t’ bed. Get some sleep. Is late an’ you’re no’ at your best. It’ll look better in the mornin’, I promise.” Once I get there, at least.

Jemma nodded, and once she realized he couldn’t actually see her said, “You’re right. It will. I love you. Thank you, for everything, and have a good night. I’m sorry I woke you.” Once he had bid her good night as well, Jemma hung up the call and glanced toward her closet. She considered at least changing out of her scrubs, but the idea of even stripping out of her clothing seemed like too much. 

After a quick appraisal and realizing there was nothing on her scrubs that she’d object to collapsing into bed with, Jemma did just that, and fell into a deep sleep nearly immediately. 

Fitz grabbed his backpack as soon as Jemma hung up the phone, tossing in his laptop and charger, the cord for his phone, a change of clothes, pajamas, basic toiletries, some snacks and an empty water bottle. His sketchy packing took less than ten minutes, a shower about the same, and he was in the BMW and on the road back to Munich in plenty of time to make the 7am flight.


	30. Chapter 30

The plane landed at Heathrow just after 8am, and for once Fitz blessed that Jemma lived in the ritzy Bayswater neighborhood. The express train from the airport into the city proper let him off at Paddington station, not even a 10 minute walk from Jemma’s flat. 

He wished he was getting to see her under better circumstances. It had been just over a month since he’d been home, after all, but anything was better than nothing. Fitz quietly let himself in with his key to find Jemma sound asleep on top of her blankets, still in her scrubs and curled into a tight little ball. The radiators under the bookshelves were silent and there was a chill to the air. Fitz didn’t know how she was actually sleeping when she had to be freezing. 

Torn between waking Jemma and letting her sleep, Fitz grabbed the spare blanket from the back of the couch. Kicking his shoes off, he ever so carefully eased onto the bed next to her and spread the blanket over the both of them. Spending a few of his hours napping with her sounded perfect just about then, but she stirred just as he settled down against the pillow next to hers. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and Jemma gasped nearly immediately, uncertain she was actually seeing what she was seeing. “Fitz?” Shaking off the blanket he’d just spread over them, she brought her hand up to cup his face, thumb brushing over the stubble covering his jaw. It really was him in front of her, and Jemma gave an astounded little laugh as she wrapped her arm around him. 

“What are you doing here?” The question was muffled against his chest, and Jemma pulled back to look Fitz in the eye. “Not that I’m not happy you’re here, but what about work?”

Fitz shrugged offhandedly, “They can get on without me for a day or two. I was plannin’ on surprisin’ y’ next weekend, I jus’ bumped the timeline up a little.” He’d intended to cuddle in against her, but she’d woken before he got the chance. The way she’d curled into him did half the work though, and Fitz’ arm wound around her, tipping his head down to bury his nose in her hair. The familiar scent of her honeysuckle and rose shampoo clung to the strands and he let out a quiet sigh. “Chris’, I’ve missed y’.” 

“I’ve missed you, too,” she murmured, her fingers coming up to skim over his five o’clock shadow once more. She had only ever seen him in such a state a handful of times. There was something nice about this slightly disheveled look, and she wondered if she could convince him to maintain it beyond today. 

Jemma squirmed upward a bit so she could kiss him properly, pressing her lips to his and lingering there, trying to show him just how much she’d missed him along with her spoken proclamation. Somehow, her flat hadn’t felt quite like home with him out of town, and she was happy to have him, even if it was only for a little while. She broke their kiss and tucked herself against him, winding their legs together, too, as she happily sighed, “I can’t believe you’re here. I’m so glad you’re home.” 

He returned her kiss when she leaned up, his fingers skimming her spine. Fitz had missed the small gestures of affection, the cuddling and hugs and kisses, not realizing how accustomed he’d gotten to how often Jemma touched him until he didn’t have that anymore. 

“I thought maybe i’ was more important for me t’ be here today instead of on our sorta anniversary,” he explained, blushing faintly. Fitz wasn’t sure how Jemma would feel about him thinking to commemorate the day they’d met, but he’d planned to do so anyway because it felt right to him. It had marked a major turning point in his life and he (perhaps boldly) thought it was one for her as well. “I have a present for y’, too.” 

Jemma felt herself flush in pleasure, both from the way his hands had found their way to her skin as well as from his words. She had realized the day of their first meeting was coming up, and liked that Fitz was keeping close track of little milestones like that; the men she had dated before had all needed to be prodded and reminded about such things. It felt good that for once, the person she was with was thinking of it and not her, although there was a bit of guilt that crept in at his mention of a present. 

“A present, hmm?” she asked, eyes shutting as she rested her head against his chest, using him to block out the little bit of light that made it past her room darkening shades. “I like presents. Although, I don’t have anything for you.”

“Tha’s okay,” he quickly reassured her. “Is nothin’ big, just somethin’ I saw an’ thought y’ might like.” Which was the truth. Fitz didn’t believe in spending a fortune on a present for the sake of the monetary value, even if he had the money to do so. He’d much rather get something she’d like and use. 

When she curled into him again, Fitz reached for the blanket she’d pushed away when she first spotted him and drew it back up over her shoulder. “Y’ should try an’ get some more sleep, Jem,” he said, running his hand over her hair and urging her to relax further into him. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

Fitz was right, and between his warmth and the spotty sleep she’d had earlier, Jemma was still feeling worn down. She stifled a yawn against his shoulder and nuzzled further into him as she muttered, “Sure. Sleep is good. I love you, Fitz.”

With that, she was out like a light. 

Jemma woke a few hours later to find Fitz, while still in bed, had at some point pulled out his laptop, and was busy working on it. He noticed when she stirred, though, and the soft, sweet smile he gave her sent her heart fluttering behind her ribs. Shedding the blanket as she moved, she sat up to press a kiss to his cheek before slipping off the mattress. 

“I need a shower,” she explained when Fitz’ quizzical look caught her eye. “I think it’ll go a long way toward me feeling more human. When I get out, we can talk about what we want to do today?”

“Sure. Take your time,” Fitz said easily. Jemma looked less stressed already, compared to when he’d accidentally woken her earlier. Just being here in her flat was making him feel better than he had before, much less getting to see and be with Jemma in person instead of only over the phone. 

Honestly, he was perfectly okay with staying in all day if that’s what Jemma wanted to do, but he could be flexible too. Really, Fitz just wanted to bask in her presence and try to make up for a month of not seeing her. Her comment earlier about needing a hug he wasn’t there to give had gotten to Fitz more than he wanted to admit. 

She did as he asked, lingering in the steamy air of the bathroom long after her hair was washed and her body scrubbed clean, just letting the hot water loosen all of the muscles that had gone tense in her shoulders and back. He was home. Fitz was home, even if only for a short while, and Jemma was looking forward to being able to do little things again, like hold his hands and share a meal while watching a bad movie and kissing. She particularly was looking forward to a bit more kissing. 

When the water began to run cold, Jemma shut off the tap and dried herself, quickly doing her hair up in a braid before slipping into a pair of skinny jeans and her favorite yellow cardigan. She needed the sunny color today, she decided, hoping it would finish the job of elevating her mood that Fitz had begun that morning. Once dressed, she came back into the main room of her studio to fetch her phone from the bedside table, and moved to sit on the bed next to the man who could, she supposed, be described as her boyfriend. 

She felt a twinge in her shoulders as she settled, though, and couldn’t hide the look of discomfort that passed over her face. “Too much time bent over paperwork, I think,” she told him by way of explanation before rolling her shoulders in an attempt to ease her discomfort. 

Fitz set his laptop aside when she reappeared. Although things still weren’t quite right - something was just a bit off about Jemma’s appearance - she looked more alive and alert. It wasn’t until she settled on the edge of the bed that he realized what it was. Jemma wasn’t moving as gracefully as she usually did, and her flinch when she stretched was enough to clue him in on why that might be true. 

She busied herself tapping into her phone, and Fitz slid across the mattress to sit behind her. Careful of her as always, he slipped his hands under the bright knit of Jemma’s sweater to rub her back. He’d only done this for her a few times when she was on her period and he was careful now, starting with her lower back and working his way up. “Let me know if this hurts a’ all,” he murmured, peeking over her shoulder and frowning when he realized Jemma was about to call Vivian. “Dinna tell her I’m here, okay? Y’ dinna need t’ hear any o’ that on top of everythin’ about your father.” 

Jemma nodded to acknowledge his comment. Fitz was right; her mother was a wounded animal at the moment, and would lash out at anything she could to feel better, including her daughter and her new relationship. She hit send and brought the phone up to her ear, responding with a quick “Hi, Mum,” once the line clicked open. 

The conversation was thankfully brief, with Vivian mostly focused on getting Jemma off the line so she could get back to bossing the doctors and nurses about. Her father was, as she’d suspected, resting. His medical team had ordered that no work be brought to him, and cut all of the fat that they could from his diet, along with excess sugar along. He was miserable, but it was necessary. At the moment, Jemma had interrupted a conversation (and by “conversation” she knew her mother meant argument) about him retiring, or remaining at least a partner in name only. Elliott was currently refusing, but Jemma knew that her mother would eventually talk him around. Vivian Simmons always found a way to get what she wanted; the woman had practically made getting her way an art form. 

Jemma offered to make the flight to Devon, but Vivian flatly refused. He would be fine, she insisted, and had plenty of doctors; what good would one more, even if it was his daughter, do? That response had hurt, even though it’d been expected, and Jemma quietly bid her mother goodbye with a final request to give her father a kiss and hung up the phone. 

“Well, that’s that, I suppose,” Jemma darkly muttered, tossing the phone to the side and leaning a bit more into Fitz’ touch. “She says it isn’t worth my coming out to see him.” 

Fitz’ hands stilled when he realized that rubbing her back was absolutely useless at the moment. Jemma’s muscles kept knotting up beneath his hands as the conversation ebbed and flowed between her and Vivian. He shifted closer, wrapping his arms around Jemma’s slim body to wait until she was done with the call. 

Even only hearing the one half of what was being said made Fitz’ blood pressure rise, even more glad he’d reminded Jemma not to let on he was there. Vivian was tough to deal with on a good day, and Fitz hated the way she was always so dismissive of Jemma’s concerns. He knew what was coming even before Jemma lowered the phone from her ear. 

“Of course she thinks that, Jem,” Fitz murmured, drawing Jemma to lean against him and urging her head back against his shoulder. “Neither o’ your parents give y’ credit for bein’ a sensible adult. Or for your talents as a doctor. And especially no’ as a compassionate person,” he pointed out, “Because neither o’ them would care about such a thing except when is expected o’ them.” Fitz had a sinking suspicion that if it was Jemma in the hospital, her parents would only show up out of duty, not of care. 

Jemma allowed her eyes to slip shut and leaned back into Fitz as he bid, allowing the gentle rumbling of his voice reverberate through her. That, and being near to him, was soothing enough, and Jemma soon felt as though she’d easily be able to drift off just as she was. It was only in this state that she could let go of what she felt was expected of her, and admit what she knew to be true.

She knew deep down that Fitz was right, that her parents were fundamentally selfish people who had only had children because it had been expected of them. Jemma had long thought that if they had their way, she and her sisters would have vanished away to boarding school as soon as they hit six months and only come back when they had socially acceptable manners. At least, that’s how it had seemed when she was younger. Now, she just wondered whether her grandparents had just done a monumental job of messing both her mum and her dad up. Either way, Jemma had promised herself long ago that if she ever had children, she wouldn’t treat them that way. They’d grow up knowing they were loved and wanted and valued. 

She shook her head to clear the thought, knowing it was of no use to dwell on it, and instead opened her eyes to look in Fitz’ direction. Her current position only gave Jemma a view of his neck, so she pressed a quick kiss to his pulse before sitting up in his arms and shucking her sweater over her head. The move revealed the camisole she had on beneath it, and tossing a quick smile over her shoulder, she said, “I don’t want to think about it too much, Fitz. I’d rather just enjoy having you home. Now, weren’t you supposed to be doing something?”

Fitz held onto Jemma for the long moments until she was ready to speak, letting her thoughts circle and settle for a bit. He was getting better at learning when to let her be and when to nudge her into talking, and was relieved when she eventually gave him that soft kiss. It was an unspoken signal that she was okay and it was time to change the subject. 

Unsurprised when she then moved to sit up, Fitz was surprised when she drew her cardigan off, only understanding when she turned to give him that little smile over her shoulder. “I didna know tha’s what I was supposed to be doin’, lass. Is no’ like y’ ever asked me,” he teased her gently. “But I’m such a good person t’ notice y’ seemed uncomfortable when y’ stretched an’ decided t’ rub your back…” 

She swatted at him then, and Fitz ducked away before setting his hands on her back again. His hands weren’t huge, but Fitz had long, sensitive and dexterous fingers that he put to good use, finding the places she’d knotted up. He winced when he curved his hands over Jemma’s shoulders. “How do y’ no’ have a terrible headache righ’ now, lass? You’re a mess,” he muttered as he carefully dug his fingertips into the hard knots of tension arced between her neck and shoulders. 

“A lifetime of dealing with Vivian?” Jemma quipped before moaning softly. Fitz’ fingers had found and begun working on a particularly tight spot, and the brief pain that came from his digging in quickly faded into pleasure as the muscle loosened and gave way. Her head fell forward, giving him plenty of room to do as he pleased. 

Before long it wasn’t enough, though, and Jemma felt herself get a bit restless. “Hold on,” she said, patting Fitz’ knees to get him to stop. She lifted herself then, and moved from her position between his legs to spread out next to him on her stomach. She brought her arms up under her head and looked up at Fitz from her new prone position. 

“I think this might be easier,” she explained, flashing him a wheedling smile. “Don’t you?” She held there, waiting to see if Fitz would be willing to continue massaging her back with her in this new position. 

Fitz fell into silence as he rubbed Jemma’s shoulders, all his intense focus narrowed on the web of muscle over Jemma’s back and shoulders and getting her to relax for once. Obediently, he lifted his hands when she asked, still and unsure if he’d done something wrong. He nearly asked, but she laid down on her stomach and he realized what it was she wanted.

“Probably, yeah,” Fitz agreed. With Jemma lying down, he could use more pressure without her having to push back into his hands. Kneeling next to her, it didn’t take more than a few minutes of working on Jemma again to realize he wasn’t at the right angle to get to everything. He also wasn’t able to put even pressure on both sides of her spine. Tentative and especially careful, Fitz levered himself over Jemma’s body, knees on either side of her waist. “Let me know if I’m too heavy,” he murmured down to her before returning to his work. 

Hazel eyes slipping shut once more, Jemma nodded her promise to let Fitz know if she was uncomfortable, and settled in to enjoy the feeling of being pampered. And pampered she was, sinking into the feeling of Fitz’ long, dexterous fingers pressing into her tight muscles, easing any and all discomfort as he moved from her lower back upward. 

She shivered when his fingers slipped beneath her camisole, the calluses on Fitz’ fingers raising trails of gooseflesh in their wake. It was a titillating sensation, the roughness of his hands in contrast to the careful way he touched her, and combined with the feeling of his weight pressing her just a bit into the mattress, it had Jemma flushing in anticipation. The sensation only grew when his fingers brushed the edge of her bra, an unintentionally teasing thing that caused her hips to shift a bit beneath him. 

To date, Fitz had been far more reserved than she had in terms of their physical, save that one slip while on vacation, and so she had no reason to think he would push for anything now. Nor was she entirely sure she wanted him to, not because she didn’t want him (she most certainly did), but because the timing was still off. He would have to return to Germany, and Jemma didn’t want the specter of her father’s health hovering over them, either. So she did her best to hold herself still and push aside her slowly building arousal in favor of simply enjoying his attention. 

Trusting Jemma would say something if she was uncomfortable, Fitz zoned out a bit while he rubbed her back. Working around her bra straps became irritating after a while, and Fitz carefully nudged them and the thin camisole straps down off her shoulders. He’d been right to guess that it would be easier this way, using weight against the heels of his palms to loosen the knots, one by one. 

Fitz ran his hands over her back again, lightly this time, checking for any sore spots he may have missed, trying to ignore just how much he liked having her bare skin under his hands. He’d been dreaming about her for months now, but he’d resisted letting him think much about that in his waking hours. That way lied madness: even though he was theoretically allowed to think that way about Jemma now, neither of them were in a place to take things further than they’d gone so far. 

Jemma gave a little wriggle beneath him and ducked her face into her pillow, drawing his attention as he shifted to lay next to her. “So now I just have t’ make sure y’ dinna have any reason t’ get tensed up again - at least until y’ have t’ go t’ work tonight,” he teased. 

Given the direction in which her mind had wandered, Jemma’s first thought was to make a quip about staying in bed, clothing optional. She certainly couldn’t think of a better way to stay relaxed, but held her tongue. Oddly enough, a tiny part of her feared Fitz would reject her, but mostly, she just didn’t want to have him only to have to give him up in 36 hours. 

Moving slowly, still feeling languid from Fitz’ attention, Jemma pushed her straps back into their rightful place and twisted on to her side to face him. She scooted closer, hauling herself against him with an arm tossed over his waist and gave him a much happier smile than she’d worn earlier. “And just how do you plan on keeping me relaxed, Leo Fitz? Inquiring minds want to know.” 

He hadn’t planned on kissing her, but Jemma’s happy, pleased smile drew him in. Fitz reached up to cup Jemma’s neck with gentle fingers, leaning in until he could find her mouth with his. He had a month of missing kisses to make up for and he took advantage of Jemma being soft and warm and pliable to kiss her deeply. 

There was still a piece of himself Fitz was holding back though, because like Jemma, he knew this wasn’t the time or place. And he was still rather nervous about his first time. Because even though in some ways he was infinitely more experienced than Jemma, in others he was still so, so innocent and untried. The schism made him wary and uncertain, careful not to push too far, too fast and get either of them in over their heads. That was almost guaranteed to end badly, or at least in hurt feelings, and Fitz would prefer to avoid that if he could. 

Relaxed and with her mind adrift, Jemma was more emotion than thought and allowed Fitz to guide them through the kiss. It was lazy and heated and caused Jemma to grin against his lips. “Fitz,” she whined playfully, giggling when he pulled away to brush a kiss against the corner of her jaw. He did it again, and she gasped in response before she was able to wind her fingers into his curls and direct his attention back to her. 

“You said ‘relaxed,’ not ‘riled,’” she protested in a mock pout before kissing him herself. Jemma wound herself around him, legs twining together as she pressed flush against him from knee to hip to chest. Still, despite their rather intimate pose, Jemma felt no need to press him further. She’d have this, and eventually more, much longer if she was careful instead of rushing in headlong. 

Fitz grinned at the half-dazed expression on Jemma’s face when she dragged him away from her, only to falter when she pressed in against his body. He was half-hard in his pants and having her snuggled in so close would only lead to trouble. “Ah, ah, careful, lass,” he chided her gently, shifting his hips back a bit. “Same goes for me.” 

Once they were both comfortable and satisfied with their level of intimacy, Fitz returned his full attention to kissing Jemma, losing all track of time as he made out with her. Even when one or both of them drew back to calm down a bit, Fitz wasn’t the least bit aware of the outside world or the passing of time. It wasn’t until his phone started buzzing on Jemma’s nightstand that he actually focused on something besides her. 

Giving a little grumble under his breath, Fitz apologized and drew back to look at the phone, glaring at the screen and quickly punching in a response to the text from the team in Germany. “Sorry about tha’,” he murmured as he tossed the phone onto the mattress behind Jemma.

Jemma watched Fitz’ face, feeling more than a little regretful about the loss of his heat as he moved to answer the message. Something had gone wrong, she guessed, if the quick change in his demeanor was any indication, and curled onto her side to observe him as he handled whatever had set his phone to buzzing, concerned by the dark look that had passed across his face. 

She reached for him when he turned back to her, catching his wrist and tugging gently in a bid to have him lie down with her once more. Instead of kissing him straightaway, though, she laid herself along his side, head resting on his shoulder. He was suddenly more tense than he’d been before; Jemma could feel how stiffly he was holding himself, and her lips pursed in thought before she came upon a solution. 

“I may need to rub your back now,” she lightly teased, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. “Want to tell me what that was about, or do you want to just forget about it?”

Feeling vaguely grumpy and irritated they’d interrupted his time with Jemma, Fitz shook his head. “Jus’ a stupid question. If I’d been standin’ in front of them, they wouldna have bothered askin’, they’d have jus’ fixed it. But nooo, because I’m no’ there they think is okay t’ jus’ text an’ ask. Idiots.” He vented the frustration quickly and sighed, “Is fine, Jem, really. I’m jus’ grumpy about it. They’re no’ a bad lot, but they get lazy when there’s no one there t’ watch them. I’ll email the production super in a few an’ remind him I’m no’ around t’ run herd on them.” 

Unhappy that he’d broken the mood, he reached to run the back of one finger down Jemma’s cheek. “Give me a minute t’ take care of that, an’ I’ll turn the phone off for the rest of the afternoon.” 

She leaned into his brief touch and nodded, watching him go to his laptop to send his email before looking toward her clock. She had a few hours before the start of her shift, and for the first time in her adult life, Jemma was tempted to skive off. Lower lip caught between her teeth as she glanced between the clock and Fitz, she weighed her options. On one hand, she needed to keep Singh happy. She was banking on him for a recommendation, and didn’t want to risk upsetting him. On the other hand, though, she wasn’t sure when she’d be able to see Fitz next. Sure, she could (and would) save her pennies to plan a trip to see him before he came home for good, 

Jemma was still pondering what to do after he’d shut the lid on his laptop and came back to bed, and held her arms open for him to come cuddle with her. She continued to observe him for a few moments, fingers flexing into the air and lips pursed before she finally spoke. 

“I wonder how badly it’ll hurt my chances of a good recommendation if I call in to work tonight.” That was all she said, but pulled back to look Fitz in the eye. His blue gaze was steady, not betraying his opinion either way. “I mean,” she continued, suddenly feeling the need to justify the thought, “it’s not as though there aren’t others who call in all the time. And he sent me home last night. He very well may expect me to call in.”

Fitz quickly sent his email, rather scathing in his tone and liberally copying the floor supervisors and the production supervisor along with the project lead. Him leaving for two days shouldn’t cause the operation to shut down. Everyone had their tasks to work on, and none of them were in a place where there should be questions the supervisor couldn’t handle. It wouldn’t be until the prototype was done and the engines tested the first time that he’d absolutely be needed. 

He was half-listening to her, fully tuning in when he heard Jemma make an impossible statement, his fingers stuttering to a halt over the keys and turning to face her. “Wait. Wait. Did y’ just suggest skivin’ off work t’ spend time with me?” His jaw went a bit loose at the mere idea. In a week shy of a year, Jemma had never once called in from work, even on days when she probably should have.

He turned back long enough to hit the send button before crawling back into bed with her, catching her face in his hands and studying it closely, grinning. “Who are y’ an’ what have y’ done with my Jemma?” 

His bright smile in response to her suggestion was enough to make up her mind, and Jemma grinned back at him, her fingers curling gently around his wrists as she did so. She laughed at his question, ridiculously pleased at hearing Fitz call her his, and wrinkled her nose reflexively in response before answering, “Still me. I just don’t want to miss any time with you.” She turned her head and pressed a kiss into Fitz’ palm before leaning into his touch further. “I’m just not sure when we’ll see each other next. It seems silly to spend any time we could be together working, at least in these circumstances.” 

“Silly Jemma,” he said, shaking his head at her. “I’m no’ complainin’, but y’ practically have perfect attendance a’ work. I can entertain myself perfectly well if y’ want to go in tonight, I promise.” Fitz had intended on going up to his own flat once she left for work to check on it and grab a few things he hadn’t thought to pack when he left for Germany. 

Her nose wrinkle was just as adorable as always, although he could only admit that to himself now when he hadn’t let himself before. “If you’re no’ goin’ t’ work, then we’re goin’ out t’ dinner.” 

Jemma’s eyes widened in pleasure at the idea of a night out with Fitz. They had always been good about taking the time to go out with each other, and it only seemed natural that they’d do the same now that he was home for this brief interlude. Leaning up quickly, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away to find her own mobile. She held a finger up to Fitz, asking for a moment to make a call. With a grin of his own, he gave into her request and Jemma quickly dialed Dr. Singh’s office. 

Surprisingly, he picked up on the first ring, and a startled Jemma bumbled through a greeting and attempted to get to the point of her call before her supervisor cut her off. 

“Dr. Simmons,” he interrupted, “given the events of last night, I didn’t expect you in this evening. I’ve made sure your shift is covered; you’ll be working Sunday in addition to your usual shifts. Take tonight to center yourself, and we’ll see you tomorrow evening.” 

The older man’s tone left no room for argument, so Jemma quickly agreed and terminated the call. Barely able to contain her excitement, she hopped off the bed and came up behind Fitz, who had returned to his laptop to begin considering their dinner options, and skimmed her fingers across his shoulder before looping her arms loosely about his neck. Leaning forward to see the screen, Jemma kissed his crown and asked, “So… where are you taking me?”

Fitz flipped his laptop shut and tipped his head back against Jemma’s shoulder. “Is a surprise, lass. I think you’ll enjoy i’ though.” 

The quaint little Italian place was actually a place he’d gone on one of the ill-fated dates Dr. Thornton had recommended, but the food and ambiance was excellent and it was a step up from the places they’d gone together as friends. “I’ll have t’ go back up t’ my place t’ get somethin’ appropriate t’ wear, though,” Fitz mused, glancing at the clock. “Going t’ come with?” 

He knew better than to think she’d let him go alone, but it was still polite to ask. 

Lips curled upward into a sly grin, Jemma turned into him, nuzzling his neck a bit when he provided her with the opportunity. A hint of his cologne still clung to his skin there, causing her heart rate to bump up a notch and her to hum in contentment. She liked that she was allowed to do this now, to be close to him without worrying about leading either of them on. 

“Gladly,” she murmured, lips brushing against the corner of his jaw, “Just give me a moment to get changed.” Feeling good, and entirely unable to resist the impulse, she briefly nibbled at his ear, scraping her teeth over the lobe before soothing it with her tongue. She stayed just long enough to revel in his surprised little gasp, then danced away to find an appropriate dress for the night. 

She moved quickly, slipping into a rust colored cocktail dress with low heels and hastily applying some light makeup before reappearing. “Ready to go?” she called, gathering a few essentials and transferring them into the clutch she wanted to use for the evening. 

Fitz’ skin pebbled into goosebumps at her gentle nuzzling, but he shivered outright when she caught his ear in her teeth. “Chris’, Jemma, y’ little minx,” he half laughed, half gasped out as she danced away with a saucy little smirk. He waited patiently for her to get changed, blue eyes sweeping over her when she reappeared from the dressing room. He’d never seen her in that particular color, but Jemma had the sort of skin tone that let her wear just about anything and look wonderful. 

“Are those shoes comfortable, lass?” he asked, eyeing the heels. “The restaurant is a bit of a walk from the Underground.” It was almost entirely out of the way, really, which was part of why Fitz liked it so much. You really had to be looking for the restaurant to find it in the first place, and it was a family owned place, somehow feeling slightly upscale and yet homelike all at once. 

He got to his feet, closing the space between her to give her a small kiss, careful not to smudge her makeup, before collecting his things to make the trip up to Highgate. 

Once she reassured him that she could walk in her shoes, they exited her flat, and despite being able to walk normally enough, Jemma took advantage of the situation to stick close to Fitz. She kept her hand hooked into the crook of his arm and huddled against him in an attempt to hoard a bit of his body heat in defense from the cold. 

Fitz was accommodating, keeping her near all the way up to his door, only releasing her once they were inside his flat. “Go get changed,” she encouraged, nodding him toward his bedroom as she took off her coat and hung it on the hooks just inside the entryway. “I’ll be right here.”

He chuckled at her comment. “You’re no’ goin’ anywhere without me - no’ when you’re usin’ me as your own personal space heater,” Fitz said, playfully blowing a raspberry at Jemma. Despite the circumstances that had brought him back to London so precipitously, he thought he was rather doing a good job at distracting her from her father’s condition. “This willna take me long, but y’ know you’re welcome t’ make yourself a’ home.” 

He disappeared into his room, rummaging in his closet until he found what he wanted. It was a particular look Anthony had suggested he try, and Fitz found it was just casual enough and yet just put together enough to be good for dates. And even better, it looked good on his shorter, lanky frame. Fitz breezed from his room into the bathroom, not wanting to give Jemma a good look just yet, a little shy of deliberately flaunting in front of her when he knew he looked good. 

After a few minutes of fiddling with his hair to get the curls under control, Fitz stepped back out into his living room and paused for effect. The dark jeans, gray vest and patterned tie were fit properly to his body, the deep blue of his shirt flattering his eyes and hair. “Well?” he asked, drawing Jemma’s attention from the book she’d buried her nose in while she waited. 

Jemma could hear the grin in his voice, even with his one word prompt, but even that wasn’t enough to prepare herself. She gave a nearly inaudible gasp at the sight her presented and blushed when she saw Fitz’ smirk widen. He knew he had her, but she refused to back down. Two could play this game, and catching her lower lip between her teeth, Jemma stood from the the armchair she’d settled in and meandered toward him, purposely throwing an extra swing in her hips. 

Purposely keeping her chin tilted downward, she glanced up at Fitz from beneath her lashes and made a circuit around him, letting her eyes travel over him in a blatantly lascivious manner. She appreciated the broadness of his shoulders, and the way his torso narrowed at the hips. He wasn’t much taller than she was, and was slighter than most of the men she’d dated, but there was something about Fitz himself that caused her stomach to flip pleasantly when she allowed herself moments such as this. 

Coming back around, Jemma stopped before him and gave him a little nod. “You look nice, Fitz,” she said, confirming what he plainly already knew, and her inflection making it clear that she thought he looked far more than merely nice. 

He blushed under Jemma’s scrutiny, but the grin didn’t waver, pleased that he’d gotten her attention so thoroughly focused on him. The way she strutted toward him drew his eyes immediately, but, “Y’ know, I’ve seen y’ in your club dresses, lass. Tha’ particular walk isna nearly as effective without the killer heels,” Fitz teased. 

Still, he noted Jemma’s itching fingers and reached to catch her hands. “Am I goin’ t’ have t’ keep hold of these all evenin’ t’ keep them from wanderin’ too much?” Fitz still wasn’t used to flirting with her - her father’s illness and then leaving for a month hadn’t helped with that - but he thought he was safe to get away with that particular comment. 

Jemma’s cheeks went a bit pink when Fitz called her on her coquettish behavior, her grin softening to something a bit more bashful as he laced their fingers together and pulled her in close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of him. His nearness distracted her for a brief moment as she considered the way her hands fit within his, and how the way his longer digits folded around hers made her feel rather delicate. It also pleased her to no end that he was flirting with her, and so she murmured, “If you think it’s something in a dress, you should see it in just the heels,” before glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. 

He’d never figure out how she did that - appearing to be looking up at him through her lashes - when the heels put them at nearly the same height. Jemma’s softer smile had his grin widening though, at least until she spoke. 

Fitz’ fingers tightened around Jemma’s, his jaw going loose and his smile fading as the image she suggested punched him in the gut - and his hormones. “Chris’, lass, tha’s no’ even fair,” he muttered, “Y’ win this round. I canna even say anythin’ right now.” Until these last seven weeks, Fitz hadn’t spent much time thinking about how often he was having sex, but the celibacy aspect of still figuring things out with Jemma was wearing on him. Having her make such a blatant comment was torturous. Perhaps even more so than when they both got caught up in their kisses and caresses while making out.

His imagination had been more than active over the last several months without her deliberately fueling his fantasies.

Feeling abashed and vindicated in equal measure, Jemma leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek to make up for her teasing. Perhaps she’d gone too far, but she had quite enjoyed seeing Fitz a bit flustered; in truth, she wasn’t sure she could manage it. She knew she was beautiful, knew that men found her desirable, but Fitz was an entirely different story. Fitz was intimidating, perhaps because of his experience or the fact that he mattered more to her, or both, but Jemma felt like she was still settling in when it came to letting him see this particular side of her. 

“I’m sorry, Fitz,” she apologized in a tone that clearly indicated she meant no such thing. “I promise to behave during dinner.” She gave his fingers one last squeeze and turned to put on her coat once more, feeling buoyed by her successful attempt at flustering him just a tiny bit. 

“Liar,” Fitz shot back, his grin returning. “Get a couple of glasses of wine into you and you won’t be able to keep your hands off me!” After all, he’d seen Jemma eye men like that at the club and she inevitably ended up all over them on the dance floor. And - not that he cared to remember those occasions, or had the right to judge, given how often he’d gone home with men who caught his eye - sometimes made out with them, too.


	31. Chapter 31

Little did Fitz know at that moment just how right he was. A few hours later, he was carefully fending off Jemma’s wandering hands in the booth at the restaurant while they waited for the bill. Then again on the Underground when there were no seats and Jemma chose to tuck in against Fitz where he was leaned against an endcap. He only had two hands and after a couple of drinks of his own, trying to fend off Jemma’s hands and the rub of her body against his was a losing battle. By the time they’d passed two stops, he’d wrapped his fingers snugly around her hips and accepted that her hands were going to wander. 

As with most people, alcohol didn’t entirely change Jemma’s personality; rather, it augmented any inclinations that were already present. Which meant that for someone who was already prone to seeking touch whenever possible, she now actively took it, her fingers skimming over the rough denim covering Fitz’ thighs before drifting up to explore the contrast in texture of his leather belt. Lip caught between her teeth to keep herself from grinning foolishly at him, she tugged lightly at the metal fastening, enjoying the way his fingers tensed on her hips in warning. Ever since her earlier teasing comment, she’d taken great pleasure in seeing just how often she could make him blush over the course of dinner.

She was well buzzed, but not so far gone as to miss his warning look, and with a small pout wrapped her arms about his waist in an attempt to return her hands to a far more innocuous place. It wasn’t long, however, before she realized that her new position put her hips directly up against his… and her mouth had plenty of access to his neck. 

Mouth pulling into a grin, Jemma leaned into Fitz more firmly, purposely pressing her hips into his as her lips found the tendon in his neck that had been teasing her all night. Urged on by his sharp intake of breath, she allowed her hands to drop from where they’d been pressed against his lower back to cup his arse, giving it a light squeeze as she scraped her teeth against the tender skin of his throat. 

The same rule held true for Fitz. Except on his part, his natural reticence and self-consciousness kicked into play, Jemma’s very public display of affection making him shy. The club really didn’t count, because most everyone else on the dance floor was doing the same thing and paying absolutely no attention. Being the drunk, groping couple on the train… His cheeks were flushed in a mingling of arousal and embarrassment, his body reacting with interest to Jemma’s attention. 

If they had some privacy, he’d be perfectly okay with showing her his appreciation, but for the moment he felt frozen, uncertain and nervous and wishing they’d hurry up and get back to Lancaster Gate, so Fitz could get her home. Granted, there might be a stop at the little store near her place for another bottle or two of wine, or something else to drink, but still - there would be far less people to stare and titter under their breath and judge there, than on this crowded Underground train. 

Being pressed to him as she was, Jemma couldn’t help but notice that Fitz' entire body had gone stiff against her. She had not imbibed enough to miss that obvious a clue, and with her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, returned her hands to their previous place at the small of his back. She backed up a scant inch as well, enough to keep herself from being pressed directly against the obvious evidence of his interest, but not so far as to expose that interest to the rest of the train. 

“Sorry,” she whispered as she nuzzled at his neck and pulled away. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry I got carried away.” Jemma smiled at him softly, and hoped he knew that she truly understood why he’d be uncomfortable. It wasn’t as though his hesitation when it came to touch was unknown to her, and despite the progress they’d made with each other, she should have been more aware of what she’d been doing. 

Fitz could read that look all too well, sighing softly when she apologized. “Is okay, just… save i’ for later, yeah?” He hadn’t meant to disrupt the affectionate, playful mood she’d gotten into with his own hang-ups. 

Rather than give in to his urge to nudge her away, Fitz drew Jemma back in. Having her leaning against him wasn’t the trouble, it was the way she’d been teasing and getting him riled. Not only were they in the wrong place for that, but he was here because she’d been upset about her father. And Fitz was still nervous about things. He knew he’d have to push past them at some point, but now, with everything else, was not that time. 

Still feeling rather silly for having made him uncomfortable, Jemma passed the rest of their ride silently clinging to Fitz, her head resting on his shoulder as they swayed with the gentle motion of the train. She only moved when he gave her a gentle nudge toward the exit at their stop, her fingers threaded through with his as she followed him out of the station and onto the street. The warmth of his hand folded around hers, as well as the small smile he directed her way and the brush of his shoulder against hers went a long way to reassure her, and by the time they reached the small corner shop near her flat, Jemma was able to give him a genuine smile in return. 

After selecting two bottles of white wine, they hurried back out into the cold, clinging to each other and giggling as they made their way back to her tiny flat. Jemma still felt a bit unsteady; during her quiet time on the train, her thoughts had lapsed back to her father, and she felt slightly guilty for having so much fun while he was lying ill in a hospital bed. Still, she was determined to make the most of the little time she had left with the man she loved, and gently set thoughts of her father aside, resolving to call him tomorrow to ease her guilty conscious. 

Grateful for Jemma’s quiet acquiescence but still stewing a bit, Fitz let himself settle down during the rest of the ride and felt far steadier when they arrived back at ground level at the station. Willing to be a little more open when they didn’t have so many eyes on them, he stole a kiss from her in the quiet aisles of the store, giving her a slightly impish little smile when she gave him a surprised glance. 

Jemma’s flat was in a mews, the equivalent of a well-kept back alley in upscale Bayswater. Fitz tugged Jemma to one side as they neared her flat, knowing no one was around but her neighbors, and gently pressed her back against the chilly brick wall. His fingers were still tangled around hers as he leaned in close, his mouth brushing against Jemma’s. “Thank y’ for bein’ patient with me, lass,” he murmured, and a moment later swept in for another kiss. Rather than soft and sweet like the sneaky one in the shop, this one was deep and intense, all heat and a bit of retribution for tormenting him so on the train. 

She grinned after his initial kiss, pleased that he was being so sweet and affectionate; she had worried, after the train, that he would be so put off by her public display of affection that he wouldn’t be comfortable reciprocating it so quickly. His crowding her, though, and the gentle brush of his lips caused her to sigh as the very thought slipped from her mind. 

That was until his second kiss obliterated her thought process entirely. If it hadn’t been for the wine bottles weighing down her hands, Jemma would have wound her arms around Fitz’ neck, holding him close as his tongue brushed against her lips and her knees went weak. As it was, she had to settled for snugging her fingers around his a bit more tightly as she allowed the brick wall to take her weight, ignoring the chill in favor of the warm flush Fitz was causing to bloom in her gut. 

Fitz drew back, but only enough to separate their mouths and let them both breathe, his forehead set against Jemma’s. “Paybacks are terrible things, aren’t they, lass?” he said, chuckling roughly, his voice set lower than usual from his mouth being dry. Despite not feeling ready to go much beyond making out and potentially a bit of frottage, Fitz also wanted to make the point that Jemma shouldn’t tease him too much. It wasn’t fair, especially not now. 

Even if she claimed she wanted something to happen tonight, it wasn’t the right timing, and Fitz was determined to hold to that, for her sake if not his own. 

Jemma shivered, whether from the chill in the air or Fitz’ tone of voice she couldn’t be sure, and whimpered before looking up at him with unfocused hazel eyes. She was vaguely aware that he was teasing her, trying to prove a point, but the bit of alcohol that was still in her system wouldn’t allow her to process his words. Instead, all of her mental energy went to focusing on his lips, which were red and swollen from their shared kisses. 

She licked her own and pouted at him as his words finally set in, disentangling their fingers so she could wrap her arms around his waist and pull him close once more. “Terrible isn’t the word I’d use, not if that’s your idea of payback,” she retorted without heat. Softly, with no intention of pushing him into anything, at least not outdoors, Jemma kissed him again, sighing softly. Kissing Fitz was something she’d never tire of, from the way his mouth molded to hers to the way his hands would splay against her back, holding her near, even if it wasn’t all she wanted from him. 

“Come on,” she urged, breaking the kiss and nudging him toward her door, “these bottles won’t open themselves.” 

“Sure they are, especially if I dinna mean t’ kiss y’ like that again tonight,” Fitz teased as Jemma tugged him up the lane toward her flat. He wouldn’t hold to that, but he felt justified in letting her think it, at least for a little while. He grinned when she stopped to stare at him, passing by Jemma on the stairs and using his own key to let them into her place. 

The sight of his bag on the floor next to her bed reminded Fitz that he had a gift for her, and he sat on the edge of the mattress to rummage for the small box. Coming up with the gift, wrapped in dark blue paper with a slightly smushed ribbon, Fitz glanced up at Jemma, a shy, reticent look on his face. “Told y’ I brought y’ a present. This is for y’,” he murmured, handing it over. 

Jemma carefully set the two bottles of wine on her dining room table before peeling off her jacket. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he sat on the bed and began rifling through his bag. Her curiosity peaked, Jemma wandered over to him without bothering to kick off her heels. A soft smile split her face as she carefully took the box from him, charmed in equal parts by his hesitation and the fact he’d thought to bring her something. 

“Fitz,” she cooed, clearly pleased as she slipped sideways onto his lap and brought one of her arms to curl around his shoulders. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” She kissed his cheek and turned her attention to the box, carefully picking at the tape he’d used on the navy wrapping. She could tell he’d wrapped it himself, given the few places where the paper had been creased and straightened, and the idea of Fitz, her Fitz, hunched over the gift as he tried to get everything just so sent a flood of affection through her. 

Once the tape was up, she pulled the slightly wrinkled paper away to reveal a square white box. Shooting him a curious look, Jemma opened the lid of the box, a pleased smile breaking across her mouth. He’d brought her a small, silver pendant of a carefully modeled DNA helix. “Fitz, it’s beautiful. Would you help me put it on?” 

“Well, I was goin’ t’ be here next weekend,” Fitz started, a little defensive in his nervousness about giving Jemma a gift. She slid into his lap though, and he automatically braced her there with one arm, the other rising to nervously scratch at the back of his neck. 

He hadn’t ever felt the need to give her presents randomly - Christmas, her birthday, and the apology flowers didn’t count. And this wasn’t entirely random, but he wasn’t sure Jemma remembered the significance of the date. “Is comin’ up on the anniversary of the day we met, an’, well… I wanted to say thank y’. Sort of,” Fitz said, babbling a bit as Jemma picked at the wrapping and peeled it loose. The necklace wasn’t particularly fancy, but he’d wanted something she’d feel comfortable with as an everyday necklace, not something she’d put away in a jewelry box and rarely wear. 

The delicate swirl of a DNA model had seemed suitably feminine for her, as well as significant and relevant to Jemma, given her choice of specialty. Fitz relaxed when the smile spread over Jemma’s face, and even more so when she asked for help putting it on. He carefully removed the one she already had on before sliding his gift around her neck, easily handling the tiny clasp - engineering and working with small models did come in handy now and then. 

Once it was on, Fitz sat back to admire the pendant, and unexpectedly, the way it set almost perfectly just above his girlfriend’s modest cleavage. Fitz’ skin flushed again, and he mentally cursed himself for his indecision and nerves. He wanted her, she wanted him, and this all should be easy, but it simply wasn’t. Ignoring that unease, knowing Jemma would pick up on it if he lingered, Fitz reached to brush the pendant with a single finger, watching the curves of the double helix catch the light. “It suits y’, I think.” 

Jemma couldn’t help the way her breath hitched just a bit as Fitz’ fingers brushed over both the pendant and the delicate skin of her chest, flushing a bit as she found herself willing his hands to brush just a bit lower. She had never considered herself particularly wanton, but the fact that they had waited this long made nearly everything feel like foreplay. Jemma hadn’t felt this frustrated since her first year at university, at least, although to her surprise, she found it more enjoyable than she would have thought. It made every moment seem weighty, amping their anticipation higher, and the very thought of what it would be when she and Fitz did give in sent shivers through her entire being. 

Still grinning at him, Jemma shifted just a bit in his lap so she was facing him more squarely, she leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. “It does,” she murmured, lips brushing against his hairline, “as does the man who picked it for me.” She pulled back just enough for Fitz to see the glint in her eye and declared, “You, Leo Fitz, make a rather excellent boyfriend. In case you didn’t already know.”

Fitz chuckled at that. “Is only because we’ve practically been datin’ already for months. Is no’ like I havena had time t’ figure out what y’ like, lass, an’ contrary t’ what most people think, I’m no entirely unobservant. Just rather dense when it comes t’ people. But you’re no’ people t’ me, anyway,” he admitted. Fitz was critical of himself on a good day, but truly, Jemma’s patience with him seemed to know no bounds and he knew exactly how grateful he should be for that. Had Jemma been anything less than what she was, she never would have tolerated his cluelessness for so long. 

Suddenly feeling rather soft and affectionate, he tipped his head back, stretching up a little to catch Jemma’s mouth for another kiss. He might be teasing her by refusing any more of the deeper, intense kisses like he’d given her outside, but Fitz couldn’t resist this. He’d become far too fond of kissing Jemma over the summer, and he’d been without them for a month. 

Between Fitz’ nearness, his verbal reminder that he was hers and she his, and his kiss, Jemma was feeling warm and affectionate, and easily gave herself over to kissing him. It still hadn’t ceased to amaze her, and she hoped it never would, how easy it was to be with him like this, how readily they matched each other’s moods and wants. Eventually though, and far sooner than she liked, her position on Fitz’ lap became uncomfortable, and Jemma had to shift off of him. Part of her considered going back to what she had tried on the train, only this time straddling his lap, but decided against it; it wasn’t fair to tease him into doing something before he was ready for it, and she was determined that the final physical step in their relationship would be his decision. 

Even if some days she felt like she was absolutely desperate for it to happen already. 

Standing before him, Jemma allowed herself to affectionately run her fingers through his curls one more time and bent at the hip to kiss him before walking slowly away. She finally kicked off her heels at the door and after retrieving the two bottles of wine, carried them into the kitchen. “Do you want a glass?” she called out to Fitz, putting one bottle in the refrigerator to stay chilled before uncorking the second. 

“Yeah, sure,” he called out. Neither of them were going anywhere and they didn’t have to be up early, so he didn’t have any objection to getting tipsy again. Well, as long as he still had enough of his wits about him to keep them from doing anything foolish. He had made that promise to himself, after all. 

Fitz busied himself getting comfortable, toeing off his shoes, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. Thankfully the sleeves were already rolled up, or he’d have gone crazy from feeling too constricted far earlier in the evening. By the time Jemma came back in, he’d piled up all Jemma’s pillows and was leaned back against them and her headboard, barefoot and entirely comfortable. “Y’ might want t’ bring the rest o’ the bottle, lass,” he said with a grin. “Or one of us will be gettin’ up again soon.” 

He knew as well as she did that once Jemma got cuddled into her bed that she wouldn’t want to move again.

She nearly denied him outright, the rebuke to get the bottle himself it he wanted it just at the tip of her tongue, when she caught sight of him and Jemma’s argument died in her throat. The picture he presented, relaxed but rather adorably rumpled and in her bed did interesting things to her, such as causing her stomach to flip and her breathing to go shallow. Jemma was sorely tempted to forget the wine entirely in favor of clambering into bed to straddle his lap, but held off. She could be controlled. 

Jemma refused to let him off easy, however, and made sure to pout at him before turning back to the kitchen to fetch the bottle. There was a voice in the back of her head, it sounded suspiciously like her mother, reminding her that white wine should always be served chilled, that she studiously ignored. Knowing them, she and Fitz would have it gone before it even came anywhere near to room temperature. Once she set the bottle on her bedside table and handed both glasses off to Fitz, Jemma curled into the nest of pillows he’d made them, tucking her legs under her and pressing right up next to him. 

Her seat forced him to wrap an arm around her, and Jemma settled in, her head finding its way to his shoulder easily. Once she was comfortable, Fitz handed her glass back to her, and with a little clink of their glasses, they proceeded to work their way through the bottle of wine. 

Their conversation wandered from topic to topic as it was wont to do, and Fitz realized something with a start as Jemma related an A&E blooper about a young woman who didn’t know she was pregnant. Not that he was necessarily worried about Jemma getting pregnant - he did know she was on birth control - but he didn’t have condoms and he might not be safe to be having sex without one. 

Fitz had always been responsible about getting tested regularly and was usually good about safe sex, but he’d gone down on someone without protection not long before Jemma’s deadline. While it was probably fine, it would be another month or so before every potential STI could be ruled out. He reassured himself that nothing was going to happen tonight, and he was going back to Germany tomorrow. By the time he got back to London, the deadline would have passed, he’d have been tested again and if Jemma didn’t want to use condoms it wouldn’t be a big deal. 

He belatedly realized that Jemma had gone quiet, eyeing him curiously, and gave her a sheepish little smile. “‘M sorry, lass. I was woolgatherin’. Why don’ I go get the other bottle o’ wine, an’ y’ can tell me what I missed?”

Jemma pouted at first, not liking the idea of losing Fitz’ warmth, but also disliking the fact that her glass was empty. Reluctant, she nodded at him and watched as he crawled off the mattress and slipped into the kitchen. She took a moment to admire the way his jeans fit, particularly over the swell of his arse, before stretching her legs out in front of her on the mattress. 

She was feeling loose and warm, no doubt an effect of the wine she’d had, and her fingers alternated between toying with the necklace Fitz had bought her and brushing over the buttons on the dress she was wearing. The material of the shirt dress wasn’t particularly heavy, but still felt like too much against her skin. Jemma was toying with the idea of stripping the thing off, solely for the sake of comfort, of course, when Fitz coming back into the room demanded her full attention. 

The sight of him, even more wrinkled now that they’d been lounging in her bed a while, sent a wave of giddiness through her, and before she realized it, Jemma was on her knees at the edge of her bed and holding her arms out to him. 

Fitz’ share of the first bottle of wine had left him warm and fuzzy, although he didn’t realize how much so until he got up from the bed. He made short work of uncorking the bottle before returning to Jemma, grinning when he found her kneeling up on the edge of the bed. She had a certain girlish enthusiasm about everything when she’d been drinking. Well, she was enthusiastic all the time, but there was a certain silliness and innocence about Jemma when she had alcohol in her system, and Fitz found it rather adorable. Not that he’d admit that. 

Careful not to spill the bottle, Fitz leaned down to drop a kiss on Jemma’s nose, teasing instead of giving the kiss she was clearly asking for with her upturned face and puckered lips. “Silly lass,” he laughed, giving in after only a moment and pressing his lips to hers briefly. “You’re lucky I love y’, or I might have t’ protest y’ bein’ so demandin’ about those kisses.” He was teasing, of course. 

Nudging Jemma back onto the bed, Fitz returned to his own place, leaned back into the pillows. “Give me your glass,” he murmured, refilling hers before his own. 

Jemma giggled, buoyed as she was by the wine and just having Fitz around, and easily flopped back into her place, heedless of how her dress fluttered about her legs. She handed her glass to him obediently, fascinated by the way his long fingers wrapped around both the bottle and her glass as he poured her another drink. With a tiny smile, she allowed their fingers to brush as she took back her wine, and took a sip as he tended to his own. 

Satisfied that they were both replenished, Jemma reached for his hand and wound her fingers through with his. Fitz’ fingers just looked right around hers, and the sight (or perhaps the alcohol) made her giggle in pleasure. “I miss this, when you’re gone, you know,” she whispered, voice still cheerful despite the more somber nature of her words. “I miss holding your hand and talking to you and saying ‘I love you’ in person.” She leaned her shoulder into his, careful not to spill a drop of wine, and drew his blue eyes down to hers. The way he looked at her still stole her breath at times, something she was rediscovering now, and she leaned up to rest her chin in his shoulder. 

“That’s why I get so demanding.” The statement was matter of fact, and Jemma capped it with a little shrug before turning back to her glass and taking a healthy sip. They sat there for a few moments more, just soaking in the silence, before Jemma came to her senses. He’d been listening patiently to her talk through her job and life in London, and she hadn’t even asked about what he’d been doing in Germany. “So,” she blurted, speech moving too quickly thanks to the buzz she had going, “tell me about Munich.” 

Distracted by the long length of Jemma’s leg that she’d inadvertently exposed, Fitz had to drag his attention back to her words, only to have his heart melt a little at her admission. “I know, lass,” he said softly. “I miss y’, too. There’s nobody t’ talk to out there. Not like I can talk t’ y’, at least.” She’d stolen his free hand or he’d have reached for her then, skimming his fingers over her face, but he was loathe to make Jemma give up her hold on him. 

“There’s not much t’ tell about Munich, really. I’m nearly an hour outside the city, so I havena been able t’ explore much. An’ things at the airfield are pretty borin’, really. I’ve already told y’ all the interestin’ stuff when we’ve talked before.” Emails and texts went back and forth at least daily, along with the occasional call when they could get their schedules to line up, but it wasn’t nearly as often as Fitz would like. 

He was feeling just loose enough from the wine that he gave Jemma’s hand a tug in his direction. “C’mere, Jem,” Fitz murmured, pulling himself up against the headboard and out of his lazy, half-reclined position as he urged her into his lap. 

The sound of Fitz’ nickname for her rolling off his tongue made her giggle anew, carried on a wave of affection, and after she finished her wine, Jemma easily followed his gentle tug. She settled above him, a goofy smile still gracing her lips as her knees settled on either side of his hips. She leaned to the side to set her glass down, but quickly came back to him, her arms loosely wrapping about his neck as she brushed her nose against his. 

“Was there something you wanted?” She might have been well past buzzed, but Jemma was no fool. She was well aware of where she was and what she and Fitz could do in this position, but decided to take a playful tact instead, wanting to see what, exactly, he would do. 

As he’d suspected, Fitz wasn’t thinking nearly as much about all the reasons why this was a bad idea now. Or at least, he knew where his line was with what he was and wasn’t willing to do right now and was less hesitant about going right up to that line. Which made far more sense as an idea than a coherent thought, and Fitz was glad he hadn’t tried to articulate it, because he was just buzzed enough he wasn’t sure he could. 

Instead he set his own glass aside and reached for her, arms sliding around Jemma’s waist and hands splaying over her back to draw her in. “What? Like you’re goin’ t’ complain if I want more kisses, lass. I dinna know who y’ think you’re foolin’, but is no’ me.”

Fitz was right, and they both knew it. Jemma also knew she was far too drunk to convincingly play hard to get, so she gave up on that all together. Instead, she slid forward in his lap, pressing their torsos together as closely as possible and allowing their noses to brush. 

Feeling playful, Jemma leaned in as if to kiss him. But when Fitz tried to finish the job by leaning up himself, she pulled back and smiled, as pleased as a cat in cream. “I don’t know, Fitz,” she whispered, leaning forward again, still holding her lips just apart from his. “Maybe I’ve made kissing me too easy. Maybe,” she continued, voice more than a bit breathy, “I should make you work for it a bit more.”

She still wasn’t fooling him a bit. Fitz knew all too well how much Jemma liked to touch and be touched, even from long before they’d even started kissing, all the way back to that first morning she’d shown up at his flat, sobbing. Jemma had cried simply from him taking her hand that morning - Fitz still remembered it all too vividly - and he knew a liquored up Jemma had far less inhibitions from their times at the club. “Okay, lass, suit yourself,” Fitz said with a slight shrug, calling her bluff. “If y’ dinna want t’ kiss me, tha’s fine. I’ll just get comfortable an’ we can cuddle.” 

Jemma knew when she was beat, although that didn’t mean she had to like it. She pouted at Fitz, her hands dropping down to his chest to twine into the fabric of his vest as she considered her options. She wasn’t quite resigned to begging, not yet, but wasn’t willing to settle for an evening of cuddling either. As much as she loved just having him near, she knew it just wouldn’t be enough that evening. 

Instead, she called his bluff and closed the last of the distance between them, slanting her lips across his. She only had a few hours left with him, and Jemma realized just how foolish playing hard to get would be in these circumstances. Feeling bold, she used her grip on Fitz’ vest to keep him near as her tongue brushed against his lower lip in a bid for entrance. 

Fitz nipped gently at her mouth in response, fighting a grin. He knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out. 

“Tha’s what I thought,” he murmured, half-laughing into the kiss as Jemma tugged him closer. After that, there wasn’t much to say for a long while as Fitz lost himself in kissing Jemma, especially once he started splitting his attention between her mouth and the feel of her as his hands slowly began to wander her body. There was enough wine in him that doing three things - kissing, touching and talking - was too difficult.

When he added in Jemma’s responses to the things he was already doing, it became impossible to focus on anything past her. It wasn’t the first time Fitz had felt free to stroke his hands over her body - there had been that moment in the cottage on the Isle of Skye and once or twice since then that they’d gotten a little heated. This, however, was the first time that Fitz was actively, although slightly drunkenly, making the choice to go further, rather than it just happening in the heat of the moment. 

He was still careful to keep his hands above her waist, but even just palming one of Jemma’s breasts, testing the weight through the material of her dress, drew a soft gasp and whimper from her. Fitz drew back from her mouth for a moment, his eyes fixed on his own hand and what he was doing, then back up to her when he let his thumb slowly arc over her nipple through the fabric. 

Jemma Simmons was no virgin, not by any stretch of the imagination. She’d had her share of men, and while there had been dry spells before, when they’d finally been broken, it still hadn’t felt like this, like Fitz touching her. And he still hadn’t even put his hands on her skin yet.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be NSFW content.

It was the combination of everything he did and the focus with which he did it, from his tongue sweeping through her mouth to the heat of his hands splayed across her ribs, which rooted her with him in the moment. He kissed her like she was new and wonderful and exciting, and the longer he persisted in treating her that way, the more Jemma began to believe it herself. The heady idea that someone like Fitz could find her that fascinating urged her on, and Jemma’s fingers found their way to the buttons of his vest, fumbling them open as they kissed in an attempt to at least start shedding the layers between them. 

When he drew back from her, Jemma nearly voiced her protest, upset that he would take his mouth from her just when things seemed to be getting good. But then his gaze caught hers, and time froze. His eyes were the brightest blue she’d seen yet, equal parts curious and knowing as his purposely brushed his thumb over her nipple. She moaned, far louder than she’d intended, and her torso arched forward of its own volition, seeking more contact. 

Fitz remained frozen, however, just watching her, and Jemma whimpered in frustration. “Fitz, please,” she pleaded, leaning forward to brush another quick kiss against his mouth, “don’t tease me.”

He chuckled, but his voice was lower than usual from arousal and a bit of awe, and he tried to play it off as he admitted what he was really doing. “I like watchin’ the results when I do things, lass. Helps t’ know when I get things right or if I should try somethin’ else, y’ know?” His thumb made the return sweep over her as he spoke, one corner of his mouth quirking as he collected the reactions. 

He wouldn’t be half so unguarded if it hadn’t been for the wine, and Fitz soon had his other hand involved in the exploration. Convinced he was doing things right and encouraged by Jemma’s attempts to undress him, Fitz eventually abandoned his new toys in favor of other things. Namely, latching his mouth onto Jemma’s neck and collarbone as his nimble fingers slipped loose the buttons on her shirt dress. 

Even if his intent was to stay above Jemma’s waist, Fitz thought and he was sure Jemma agreed based on her vivid, insistent reactions that it was past time for him to get his hands and mouth on her bare skin. Fitz did just that, too, following his fingers down Jemma’s body with kisses and soft flickers of his tongue, teasing at her skin. 

It was so unlike being with a man, or perhaps it was just being with someone he loved. The rush of tenderness and the urges to be careful, to take his time, to study and learn what she liked best… It made Fitz unsure even as it fascinated and challenged him, tangled in emotions and desire and logic and common sense. The texture and scent and taste of Jemma’s skin alone was so very different that it was impossible to forget that this was entirely new even with all his previous experience. 

It seemed like an eternity had passed since someone had last put their hands on her in this manner, or perhaps it just felt that way because she’d been waiting for Fitz, so Jemma indulged herself. She allowed her mind to go quiet and let her body simply respond to his attention, not hampering the soft moans and whimpers that bubbled up in her throat as her boyfriend’s fingers and mouth worked their way over each freshly exposed inch of skin. 

As much as she loved Fitz’ carefully worshipful touch, so different from all the other men she’d known, she wanted to reciprocate even more. Everything in their relationship so far had been a two way street, and she didn’t want this first foray into the more physical expressions of love and affection they could share to be any different. She busied herself with undressing him, slipping his tie off and tossing it over the edge of her bed before allowing her fingers to begin picking at the buttons on his shirt. 

A flash of triumph shot through her when she finally got her hands on bare skin, nails lightly scratching at him in her haste to get his clothing off him, but it was short lived. Just as she thought she was getting back to even ground, Fitz’ lips found their way to the edge of her bra. The contrasting sensations between the wet warmth of his mouth and the cool air of her flat caused her nipples to tighten further beneath the thin material of her bra, and her hips canted forward once more. 

Fingers fisted in the open lapels of his dress shirt, Jemma dropped her face into his curls with a moan. That last roll of her hips had found the rather obvious evidence of Fitz’ desire while pressing against her center perfectly. The part of Jemma that said she didn’t want to get too far in over her head tonight was conspicuously absent, and so, without hesitation, she did it again. 

“Chris’, Jem,” Fitz choked off the moan she caused, rocking up against him like that. Pressing his forehead into Jemma’s chest, his lips carefully kept away from her skin, it took him a moment to formulate the words he wanted. Everything had been shut down to focus on Jemma, leaving him a little stupid. “If I get too worked up I’ll have t’ stop everythin’,” he reminded her softly, lifting his head so his blue eyes met her hazel ones in the low light. 

His fingers traced the edge of her bra, mapping the lines between skin and lace. “Your choice, baby girl, y’ can keep doin’ tha’, or I can keep doin’ this a lot longer,” Fitz added, leaving it up to her. He was pretty sure Jemma wouldn’t like the choice, but she’d rather keep going than end things so prematurely. Letting her think about it, Fitz continued his path, moving up Jemma’s bra straps to where her unbuttoned dress was spread wide over her shoulders. Not counting the few times he’d rubbed Jemma’s back for her, which was an entirely different kind of touch anyway, Fitz had only rarely gotten to explore her bare skin. 

Just the softness of it alone was tempting to his sensitive fingertips, but the intimacy of this attracted him, too. Fitz didn’t take time like this with his previous partners. There’d never been reason to. They were with him for one thing only, and once they - and Fitz, too - got what they wanted, they were gone. Jemma was different, and Fitz found himself nudging the sleeves of the dress down Jemma’s arms and baring more of her to him. 

Mind lagging thanks to the gentle ghosting of his callused fingertips over the curve of her clavicle and the hot wash of his breath over her exposed skin, Jemma had difficulty processing just what, exactly, Fitz had told her. She was aware that he had said something about stopping, but his actions certainly weren’t backing that up, not with the way his mouth meandered along the lace edge of her bra and his hands gently tugged her dress from her, causing the material to pool about her waist. 

His eyes drank her in greedily, almost as if he were intent on mapping the freckles that dotted her skin in a single sitting, and Jemma forced her fingers to relinquish their hold on his shirt in favor of cupping his neck. The action forced him to look her in the eye, and gave Jemma the opportunity she’d been hoping for. She leaned in to kiss him, her movements cautious but no less needy, and held there for a long moment, simply allowing herself to press against him from hip to chest. 

Jemma was careful to not push for more, but didn’t shy away from settling over his erection either. She wanted to feel what she did to him, and wanted Fitz to know she wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed by it. This was as much a part of a loving romantic relationship as anything else they did, and she wanted to be clear that this was in fact what she wanted from him. 

“You don’t have to stop,” she whispered heatedly when she broke their kiss. Jemma didn’t go far, though, and their noses continued to brush as she spoke. “You don’t have to hold back or be careful with me… I want you, Fitz. And if we don’t want to wait, we don’t have to.” 

Fitz hesitated when Jemma’s hand curled around the back of his neck and then stilled completely, eyes lifting to meet hers when her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. His own fingers, busily mapping out the constellations of pale freckles on her skin, stuttered to a halt. Jemma’s kisses were reassuring, but she snuggled her hips in tighter against his, the friction prompting Fitz to groan softly as his mind raced to understand what she was doing. 

Between her actions and her quiet words, he swallowed hard. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Jemma, he did, but he wanted Jemma and not just her body. He also didn’t want to feel rushed into anything, not when he still had issues to work through. Fitz had thought he could manage going slowly but surely, starting with this, but it didn’t seem Jemma was going to let him get away with that. 

Suddenly tense, a bit wary of Jemma’s reaction, Fitz’ gaze skittered away from hers and then slowly back again, expression still and eyes vulnerable. “I know you’re okay with not stoppin’... but I’m not yet. Jem, I…” his cheeks flushed, trying to decide the best way to say what he needed to. “It’d be easy t’ just let hormones take over an’ go, bu’... I want it t’ be differen’ with us. An’ now - with your father in the hospital an’ me havin’ t’ leave tomorrow… An’ we’re both a little drunk. The timin’ is off, lass.” Not to mention the lack of condoms or his deeper concerns that still needed to be resolved. 

Uncertain, Fitz’ hand hovered over Jemma’s cheek before curving around her jaw and slowly leaning up to press his mouth to hers again, whispering against her mouth. “Can’t we just explore a bi’? Does it have t’ be all or nothin’ right now?” 

His initial reaction had read like rejection to Jemma in her heightened state, and she felt the sharp sting of it start in her belly as her fears rushed in on her. For a brief moment, she feared that Fitz would tell her he’d been wrong, that despite being in love with her, the rest was a terrible idea and they shouldn’t be doing this, but she forced herself out of her panic and into the moment. 

This was Fitz. Fitz, with his arms still wrapped around her and looking at her as though she held all the answers to the universe, and Jemma felt her fear leech out of her as quickly as they’d rushed in. Her hold on him shifted, fingers loosening and stroking softly over the skin and up into his curls as she nodded before kissing him in turn. 

“It’s just… it’s been a while, Fitz, since anyone else…. and I, I, I suppose I got carried away.” Jemma blushed and stumbled through her non-admission. He was well aware that he’d been the only man in her bed since she had ended it with William, but it was still difficult for her to voice that hers had been the only hand to bring her to orgasm in that stretch. Jemma leaned her forehead against his and shut her eyes for a brief moment as a guard against her nerves. 

She opened them a moment later to be greeted by Fitz’ still-concerned expression, and gave him a smile. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing tonight, love. We can just explore,” she reiterated, purposely using his phrasing, “although perhaps the bed is not the best place.” Her eyes darted toward her bathroom, a thought slowly forming, and then came back to Fitz. Bottom lip caught between her teeth, Jemma took another moment to decide herself, then carefully disentangled herself from his arms and slid off his lap to stand at the edge of the bed. Careful to keep her eyes on his face, Jemma shimmied her dress the rest of the way off her hips, leaving her clad in one of her plainer bra and knicker sets, and held her hand out to him. “C’mon. I think I have just the thing.” 

He saw the hurt in her eyes, but before Fitz could do anything about it, he saw understanding bloom as well, quickly followed by a bit of embarrassment. Her cheeks went pink as she spoke and Fitz suddenly realized that she was just as sexually frustrated as he was. Perhaps even more so, going so long without. In his naiveté about the opposite gender, he hadn’t realized that was even a possibility and it certainly explained Jemma’s sensitivity to the least bit of his attention to her body. 

A spike of guilt stabbed him in the gut. He should have been taking better care of her. His only excuse was that it was impossible to know if Jemma never bloody said anything. Fitz could be entirely dense and sometimes he needed to be smacked over the head with something to get it to register. He was just getting ready to say something to that effect when she smiled. That alone was enough to distract him, the way it lit her face, and the words that followed, but then she slipped away from him. 

Fitz’ hands trailed after her, grasping, wanting to keep her with him, only to hang helplessly in the air as Jemma slithered out of her dress and beckoned him forward. Trusting that she had some idea in mind, he followed her blindly into the dark bathroom. 

At first the only sensation he had was that of Jemma’s fingers as they went to work on his clothes, peeling them away from his body and dropping them aside. His eyes adjusted though, seeing her pale figure moving in the dark. She unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, seeming bolder with the lack of light, but stepped back when he shivered and made a soft noise of pleasure at the brush of her hands against his erection. 

Fitz just caught the smile on her face before she stepped away and turned on the taps, adjusting the temperature, understanding what Jemma had in mind. And surprisingly, as he turned the idea over in his head, liked it. A lot. Taking a bath together felt intimate and encouraged touching without needing to be sexual. Theoretically, at least. 

Biting his lip, Fitz stepped in close behind Jemma and letting his fingers find the snap of her bra. “I think I like this idea, Jem,” he said, voice only loud enough to be heard over the rush of water. 

“I was hoping you might,” Jemma lightly teased, turning her head just enough to make him out from the corner of her eye. His fingers were feather light and reverent where he touched her waist and back, but Jemma’s breath still caught in her throat in response to his silent question. While she had been fantasizing what it would be like to be with Fitz, the prospect of actually being naked in front of him was still a bit daunting. What if, thanks to all of the dreams he’d had about them being together, she didn’t measure up?

Jemma swallowed her fear and nodded, trusting that Fitz could see her in the dim light, and waited as his nimble fingers worked the hook-and-eyelet fastening on her bra. When she felt the band loosen around her bust, she gave her shoulders a little shrug, allowing the cotton and lace garment to drop, first to her elbows and then onto the floor. She waited a moment, wanting to see if Fitz would react, before slipping her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and deftly pushing them off her hips. 

They pooled around her ankles, and in that small, steamy space, Jemma felt her heart jump into her throat. It very much felt like now or never, and Jemma was grateful that she’d thought to keep the lights off as she turned towards Fitz. At least this way he couldn’t see her blush as easily. The thought was a small comfort, but it still took Jemma a long moment before she found the courage to raise her eyes to his, her heart thumping in anticipation of what she’d find there. 

Relaxing more at Jemma’s quiet permission, knowing they were both aware of the limits right now, Fitz fumbled a moment with the bra. With the darkness, he had to feel for the closure and figure out how to unfasten it properly, one corner of his mouth quirking with satisfaction when the straps slid away. 

What seemed like only seconds later, she was nude before him and even half-blind he could read the anxiety rolling off her, both from her expression and posture. It was such a sudden reversal, having the more confident Jemma now nervous, it made it easier for Fitz to forget his own thoughts in favor of reassuring her. Of all the things that were going on right now, the nude portion of it might actually be the least worrisome for him. 

Even still being aroused from what little else they’d done and just from the sight of her, knowing she was so close, Fitz had been around enough to lose pretty much all self-consciousness about his body. Not that he flaunted it, as Jemma already knew. And so, he pushed down his jeans and pants and kicked them away, putting them back on equally vulnerable ground. He shivered faintly, even though the hot water running in the small room had already warmed the air, considering his next move. 

 

They were here because of his concerns, rather than still out groping at each other on the bed, but Jemma had been relaxed and wanting there. Fitz chuckled, catching her attention, and gave Jemma a quiet little smile, “We’re a pair, aren’t we? How is i’ I’m more nervous about the sex an’ you’re more nervous about things like this? I have a feelin’ we’re both just bein’ bloody silly about this whole thing. C’mere.” He reached out for her, drawing Jemma near. 

His smile was infectious, and Jemma felt the corners of her mouth quirk up in response as she stepped forward and into his hold. His erection was still pressing insistently against her hip, but she ignored it in favor of memorizing how the rest of Fitz felt against her, from the warmth of his skin and the way his musculature moved beneath it, and spread her palms wide against his back to pull herself close. 

Her words failing her, Jemma opted to just soak in the moment, eyes closed and she tucked her face into his neck. He was right, she knew; as a doctor, she’d seen her fair share of the human form and she knew that she certainly had nothing to worry about, but… it was Fitz. Everything where he was involved carried more weight, she nuzzled in closer, shivering in response to the feeling of the sparse hair scattered across his chest, to press a kiss just below his ear. 

It took a moment, but when her heart finally retreated from her throat to find its rightful spot in her chest, Jemma disentangled herself from Fitz’ hold, her hands skimming down his back and skirting over the top of his arse before they found his. She gave a little tug and murmured, “You first.”

Jemma watched as Fitz cautiously stepped into the tub before leaning into one of her cabinets to pull out an extra towel. Satisfied that they wouldn’t be scrambling for towels later, Jemma stepped into the bath and settled herself between Fitz’ knees. 

Fitz’ muscles went lax - well, except for one, he thought, stifling another chuckle - at the press of her and the way she tucked in close to him. He stayed still in her hold, fingers splayed over Jemma’s back, until she relaxed as well, eventually stepping back and urging him toward the bath. 

Jemma had a large, claw-footed tub and he sank back into the curve of the heated porcelain with a little groan, tipping his head back and letting his eyes slide shut. Even feeling Jemma climb over the lip and sinking down into the water with him, Fitz didn’t look at her. Her arms were resting on his knees, and Fitz blindly walked his fingers up from there to her shoulders, kneading the muscles there briefly before tugging her back toward him. 

She followed willingly, feeling boneless between the quick work Fitz had made of her shoulders and the heat from the water, and allowed her torso to mold against his chest. Jemma tugged his arms around her, bringing his hands to rest on her stomach, and allowed her head to tip against his shoulder as she watched the water rise around their mingled limbs. The sight was intimate without being explicit, and Jemma found an infinite amount of pleasure in knowing that despite both of their nerves, they trusted each other this much. 

Once she judged the water was high enough, Jemma stretched out a lazy leg and used her toes to shut off the tap. She never turned to look at Fitz, but could practically feel the look he was giving her bore through the top of her head. “What?” she protested, filling her voice with mock-hurt. “I’m comfortable. I wasn’t going to move to shut off the water.”

Fitz let out a little snort, his chin settled against Jemma’s hair as they lounged together in the tub. “I’m not arguin’, lass,” he murmured, shifting a bit to get himself situated and comfortable. The water shifted with him, splashing up around Jemma’s shoulders and Fitz stilled quickly, not wanting to disturb her too much. 

There was a moment of disconnect where he was suddenly sure he was about to muck everything up. Fitz shoved it away, his fingers slipping out from under Jemma's to snug his arms tighter around her. "So why exactly are we...?" he asked softly, curious and wanting to be sure of her intent. "I don'... can I still touch y' if we're in here?"

He didn't want to push if it was going to frustrate her, but the aborted moment on the bed was weighing on him, too.

Jemma’s jaw worked a bit as she tried to decide how to answer him. Part of her wanted to ask him if it wasn’t obvious; she’d stripped down in front of him and, while feeling entirely vulnerable, had allowed him to look his fill. Granted, she had to admit that what he could see was limited, given how little light filtered into her bathroom from her main room, but still. Jemma had climbed into the tub with him, and had even wrapped his arms about her. She’d think Fitz would have been able to puzzle it out for himself. 

But even that made it sound all too easy. Jemma very much craved his touch, yes, and she didn’t want to make Fitz uncomfortable, but she also knew she couldn’t stand to be teased, even if the teasing was entirely unintentional. Turning her head to the left and tilting her chin upwards so her nose just nuzzled at Fitz’ jaw, Jemma whispered, “You can touch, Fitz. I’d like that very much. But, please, don’t start something you won’t want to finish.”

“Oh,” Fitz muttered, feeling more than a little dense that he hadn’t understood her before now. He’d hate if she’d started teasing him and then drew back, too. It wasn’t fair to her, even if he was trying to test his personal boundaries while still staying within the parameters of the situation they found themselves in. Granted, none of this had been really fair to Jemma. Fitz knew just how grateful he should be that Jemma’s patience was near limitless. 

If he hadn’t already (finally!) figured out he was in love with her, the direction his thoughts took next might have given him a huge clue. Fitz suddenly was musing about the things he could theoretically do with just his hands that would still satisfy his need to take care of Jemma - not have sex with her - while he was here. And even with his own concerns, Fitz thought that maybe, if Jemma’s patience didn’t run thin and she was willing to teach him what she liked, that maybe they both could still get something of what they wanted. 

For the moment though, Fitz was content to cuddle her close, letting them both adjust to this new level and layer of intimacy set over their existing relationship. Nudity in general was a new thing, much less having free rein to touch and cuddle together like this in that state. Realizing he’d left Jemma with only his soft word of recognition and no clue of what he’d meant, Fitz pressed a kiss of his own to Jemma’s temple. “We’ll see about that, lass. I dinna want t’ leave y’ hangin’ anymore. Is no’ right and is no’ fair. I wasna thinkin’ about it like tha’ before.”

Pleased by his response, Jemma nodded, her head wobbling loosely on her neck as her hair frizzed a bit in the steamy air. Logically speaking, she shouldn’t have felt this relaxed; she had never, ever felt this relaxed when she was first naked in front of a man, but as with everything else, Fitz was proving to be the exception, not the rule. 

Perhaps it was thanks to the rather arduous road they’d taken to arrive to this point, getting to know each other as friends before testing the water with attempt after aborted attempt, but other than a brief, fluttering concern that he wouldn’t find her general shape pleasing, Jemma hadn’t found much to fret over. When they’d been in her bed, Fitz had brushed over each piece of newly exposed skin with reverent fingers. Thinking back through her past boyfriends, it didn’t take much for Jemma to realize that no man had ever looked at her that way, until her surly Scottish engineer. 

The thought made her smile, and Jemma slid her hands through the water to find his where they rested over her stomach, and weaved their fingers together. Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt his chest rumble against her back, and gave a pleased hum in response. “Thank you.” She squeezed his fingers and sank a little lower in the water, her head nestled against his pectoral and the water lapping at her throat. Jemma was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was slow and lazy. “This is really nice. Why didn’t we do this before?”

“Dunno,” Fitz mumbled against Jemma’s hair. Even though he’d been uncomfortable about being touched when they’d first become friends, he’d never been uncomfortable with Jemma. Even now, he was fully comfortable in her presence, and even the entirely new experience of being completely naked in front of her felt like a non-issue. Perhaps because he had so much else on his mind, but Fitz suspected it was because the both of them knew there was no sense of judgment between them. 

Even when he didn’t understand why she wanted to be around him, Fitz had always felt like he could be himself in front of Jemma. Even when that meant being grumpy or snappy or otherwise objectionable, because it was the way he was feeling and he didn’t have to hide that from her. 

Jemma had clasped her hands over his, and Fitz drew them along with his as he gently stroked his hands down Jemma’s belly and back up. She’d admitted to being frustrated and asked him not to tease and it made Fitz feel guilty for being so oblivious to Jemma having needs of her own. Needs that he clearly hadn’t been meeting, tangled in his own feelings. He had an idea in his head that perhaps she’d let him help her deal with some of that frustration and tension, if she was willing to show him how. Or put up with him figuring it out for himself. 

Fitz’ touch was feather light as it brushed over her stomach, but Jemma couldn’t keep herself from shivering as they ran down to her hips and back up to just beneath her breasts. Without meaning to, her hips shifted a bit in hopeful anticipation, although Jemma quickly stilled them. She didn’t expect him to do anything for her, not when he’d made it clear that he felt so uncertain, but logic couldn’t override what her body wanted, not when she’d gone so long without. 

Sighing softly, Jemma wiggled her shoulders a bit, settling back in against Fitz. The movement caused her to brush against his erection and sent her cheeks flaming before she released his hands to rest just over her navel. She had told him that she was frustrated and had asked that he not tease her; she trusted that he wouldn’t, not when it had been stated so explicitly, and it was only fair that she refrain from doing the same. Even if it was rather tempting to try to get her hands on him. 

Instead, her own hands drifted to her sides where they found his knees, and moving slowly, Jemma began to run her fingers down over his shins and back up his calves. There was something that was just pure pleasure for her when it came to having her hands on Fitz, even a part of him as innocent as his lower legs, and she lost herself in that as she gave him silent permission to touch her however he wished. 

Fitz ducked down an inch or two, enough that he could comfortably rest his head back against the edge of the tub. Letting his eyes drift shut, easing into the warmth of the water and Jemma’s quiet affection, he skimmed his fingers up over Jemma’s sternum and back down again. He knew he was likely doing what he’d promised not to, and teasing a little, but she wasn’t protesting and Fitz needed to get up his nerve to cross that line with her again. 

It was easier once he wasn’t looking, and Fitz, determined to give Jemma what she needed, flattened his palms over her belly. A soft hitch in his breathing was the only sign of the deep breath he took before running them up again, stroking Jemma’s body and repeating his earlier exploration, eventually cupping the slight weight of Jemma’s breasts in his palms. His thumbs curved a slow arc up and over her pebbled nipples. 

Jemma had been so still against him, almost like she’d braced for whatever he decided to do, but she made a little noise at that, and Fitz automatically soothed her. He blindly nuzzled past the fall of Jemma’s hair to whisper against her skin, “Shh, lass. Shh. I’m no’ teasin’ this time, I promise. Just... bear with me, okay, an’ tell me if I do somethin’ y’ dinna like.”

Somehow, in some impossible way, Fitz was warmer than the water, and the feeling of his hands, with those long, strong fingers spread wide and pressed flat to her slick skin, put Jemma on high alert. Even though she had suggested taking a bath together, and honestly had no intention of asking him for anything more than just his company, she had underestimated just how thinly spread her self-control was. She very much wanted those fingers elsewhere on her body, and had to fight every instinct to fidget as Fitz ran his hands over her.

But, when he cupped her breasts once more and toyed with her nipples, Jemma couldn’t help the desperate little whimper of frustration that slipped past her lips. She was ready to protest and remind him of his promise when she felt Fitz nuzzle against her neck and his lips brush against her skin. That seemingly innocuous gesture send a bolt of heat through her core, and Jemma pressed her thighs together and squirming a bit in a weak attempt to alleviate some of the heaviness she felt. 

After a brief moment, Jemma nodded, turning her head slightly toward Fitz. The angle didn’t allow her to see as much of him as she would have liked, but it showed her enough. From what she could see, his expression was a mix of curiosity and concern, and she felt the nervous tension drain from her chest. She smiled and gave both of his knees a slight squeeze in response as she relaxed more fully against him, not trusting her tongue to be able to form the right words. 

Fitz was relying heavily on Jemma’s body language to guide him, and opened his eyes when it felt like she was trying to look at him, peering at Jemma in the dim light. Her hazel eyes shifted once, then twice, and whatever she’d seen must have convinced her, because her body melted in against his. Jemma was suddenly loose and lax in Fitz’ hold again, her head still turned slightly and tucked in under his chin. It was a position of complete and utter trust and Fitz was beyond grateful for it. 

If she’d seemed at all nervous about this, it would have fed back to him and then from him to her in an infinite loop and Fitz likely never would have gotten any further than this. Jemma’s clear willingness to let him experiment though - that humbled Fitz. And so he spent the next little while learning Jemma by touch. Teasing, yes, but with intent rather than inadvertence, until she was shivering despite the heat and letting out soft breaths just touched with sound. They hardly even qualified as whimpers, much less moans, but it was enough to reassure him he was doing something right - and encourage him to try more. 

His hands sought out the long muscles of Jemma’s thighs, stroking and massaging for the only tactile pleasure of it at first. Eventually though, Fitz’ fingers crept closer to where Jemma wanted them, her hips squirming in anticipation. The rush of pride and satisfaction - and oddly, affection - that filled him was unexpected, and Fitz let out a quiet moan of his own when his touch prompted Jemma to rock back against his renewed erection. 

Realizing that teasing Jemma any more was just going to be unfair, Fitz adjusted to let his right hand find its way between her thighs, laying hesitantly over her for a moment before Fitz flexed his fingers and finally - finally - touched her. 

Each stroke of his fingertips over her hips and thighs, so tantalizingly close to where she wanted his touch, sent Jemma quivering, her breath coming in quick, shallow pulls as she tried to anticipate just where his hands would wander next. She was ready to part her lips and plead for him to press forward when Fitz took the initiative. 

Jemma shuddered when his fingers brushed over her sex, entirely unable to prevent her hips from jerking into his touch as Fitz allowed his fingers to press into her. Her world became a study in paradox. She felt like a balloon cut free from its string, but Fitz’ arms kept her anchored to the ground. Her mind was wondrously blank but for thoughts of him: the feeling of his hands and lips and body pressed alongside hers. He flexed his fingers again, brushing against her clit as they hovered just at her entrance, and Jemma moaned in response. 

“Fitz.” His name was a breathy plea as her own hands came off his legs and clutched at his forearms. She could feel the flex-and-pull of the muscles beneath the skin as he repeated the motion, and she clung to him as Jemma pressed her hips into his touch. “Oh, please, Fitz, just there.”

Fitz ducked his head, lips pressing a line of kisses across Jemma’s shoulder, up her neck and then hovering at her ear. He knew from the past few months that was guaranteed to earn him at least a shiver, if not a whimper, if he nipped softly at her earlobe. He used that against Jemma now, distracting her as he touched, taking his time and mapping her with his fingertips. 

It would never fail to amaze him how this one small expanse of Jemma’s body could be such a mystery to him when everything else had seemed to come so easily. If she pressed her fingers against his wrist, Jemma would feel his pulse thudding thickly in his veins, fast to match his shallow breathing. He’d already caught himself holding his breath twice, and it happened again when he found what he could theorize was Jemma’s clit and her entire body trembled in his hold.

He hesitated again, in case that was a precursor to a protest of some kind, but there was only more restless shifting and another soft noise when that caused his fingers to slide over her again. The heat of her felt like it might burn his skin, and the rest of her suddenly felt warmer as well, even though the water had begun to cool. Reassured and feeling more confident, Fitz nuzzled down to Jemma’s neck again and set his fingers into near constant motion, working in slow patterns to figure out what she liked, and once he’d found a few things, focusing on repeating those. 

Jemma tipped her head to the side, baring it to Fitz to do with as he pleased. In truth, he could do what he pleased with all of her; he, above all the other men she’d ever known, had shown her such care that Jemma found herself astounded by it at times. When it came to Leopold Fitz, she had absolutely no qualms about him. They had never pretended with each other, and it had resulted in two rather imperfect people loving each other perfectly. 

She was pulled from her more romantic musings when Fitz stroked his fingers over her clit rather deliberately, finding a motion that pulled the breath from her lungs, and she forced her hand away from his arm to reach back and thread her fingers through his curls instead. She was dimly aware that her grip might have been too tight, but couldn’t help it. Just the way he was slipping his fingers against her was enough to send thrill after magnificent thrill down her spine, and Jemma felt the beginnings of her orgasm coiling deep in her belly. 

He’d thought it would take longer for her, and for him to figure her out, but Fitz quickly discovered that wasn’t the case. Perhaps it was that she’d simply been so pent up, or perhaps it was his level of observance and being good with his hands, or maybe it was none of that and he’d simply gotten lucky this time. Regardless, the tight grip Jemma had on him and the way she was wriggling against him said very, very clearly that he was doing something right. 

Fitz’ free hand was wandering her body, and curious, he found her thighs again, gently urging one up over his own leg to give him a little more room in the narrow confines of the tub. It was so different from Fitz’ previous experiences, with Jemma softer and somehow more responsive than the men he’d been with, her reactions more acute. He could only hope that was his doing and it was different for her, too. Enough, perhaps, to convince her that he wasn’t entirely inept just because he was naive about the female body. 

Jemma’s hips rolled back against him, the tender skin at the base of her spine practically stroking his cock, and Fitz set his teeth gently into Jemma’s shoulder to hold back a groan. As it turned out, that seemed to be the beginning of the end for her, and she soon dissolved into a series of shivers and shakes and moans that faded to her trembling in his arms. 

Removing his hand when it seemed to be drawing too much sensation for her, Fitz shifted back to simply petting her, soothing her shivers and frowning when he realized how much the water had cooled while they were otherwise occupied. Nudging the tap with his foot, he quickly turned back on a trickle of hot water and returned his attention to her, nuzzling softly at Jemma’s neck as she came down from her orgasm.


	33. Chapter 33

Slowly, bit by bit, Jemma regained her senses. The first thing that noticed was chill of the water, and pressed back into Fitz and his warmth in an attempt to keep warm herself. The motion pushed her against his body, and she blushed when she felt the rather obvious evidence of how he had been affected by their activities. A flush slowly diffused across her cheeks as two things occurred to Jemma, the first being that using only his fingers, Fitz had gotten her off (and rather quickly at that), and the second that he was… interested in the results. 

A part of her had been concerned that, despite both of them wanting this on an intellectual level, when faced with the physical reality of the female body that his opinion might change. Clearly, that wasn’t the case, and a smile spread across Jemma’s face as quickly as her blush had. 

She wanted to see him, wanted to look Fitz in the eye and let him see how happy he made her in every single way, and so she gingerly extracted herself from him. Sitting up before him, it took an awkward little maneuver, but she managed to get herself turned around to face him. While still on her knees, she tapped both of his, silently asking him to bring his legs together so she could straddle them. As soon as Fitz moved where she wanted him, Jemma slipped in close to his torso once more, her arms coming up to curl around his neck as her nose brushed against his. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, still a bit dazed as she pressed a kiss to his mouth. She kissed him a few minutes more, giving herself over to gentle kisses and caresses, until she felt his cock nudge at her tummy. Pulling back with a soft sigh, Jemma ran one of hands down over his pectoral to his own stomach, allowing it to rest there. 

Fitz frowned, concerned when she drew away from him, already missing the moment of Jemma collapsed bonelessly against him post-orgasm. His fingers itched to reach for her, but she smiled and distracted him with the nudge against his leg. Unsure but game, he followed Jemma’s directions and chuckled self-consciously when she slid up against him. 

She didn’t seem to notice it though, the way his cock was poking insistently at her belly, and honestly, Fitz didn’t really care. Jemma was a welcome weight, her limbs twined carelessly around him, and her sleepy, sated kisses could be rather addictive, he thought. Her entire attitude was missing some of the… Fitz didn’t have the words to describe it; briskness, maybe? ...that he associated with Jemma Simmons. Not that she’d ever made him feel rushed before, but there was something new there. He’d figure it out later. 

In the meantime, Fitz’ arms found their way around Jemma’s slim waist, drawing her in close then frowning again at her soft words. Laughing hoarsely, sounding a little choked, he shook his head. “Dinna thank me for that, lass. If I’d had any bloody sense I’d have thought about y’ sooner. I didna realize,” he said bashfully, the edge of pink on his cheekbones invisible in the dark. 

Her fingers skimmed down his body and Fitz caught at Jemma’s hand, drawing it back up. “Y’ dinna have t’ do that. And even if y’ want to… y’ can wait a minute, y’ know. There’s no rush.” Fitz hated being pushed to do anything immediately after an orgasm, liking the moment of blissed out quiet when his brain was actually silent for once. It didn’t seem fair to let Jemma not have hers, too, and even so, Fitz just wanted her close at the moment. “C’mere,” he said softly, coaxing her back in for a few minutes of cuddling. 

At first, his words confused her. Her previous partners had made sure she enjoyed herself in bed, yes, but there’d always been a bit of a rushed feeling afterwards. Almost as if they expected to be rewarded with their own orgasm after giving her one. But Fitz’ gentleness pulled at her heart, and she could feel herself slipping a bit further into loving him. 

With an easy grin, Jemma wrapped her arms around his shoulders once more, hauling herself close to him and nuzzling at his cheek. “Trust me, Fitz, I very much want to do that,” she confided before pressing a kiss to jaw and finding his lips with hers once more. “But I can wait… at least a little while.” 

There was something incredibly pleasing in the way he so easily sank back into kissing her that Jemma couldn’t help but giggle against Fitz’ mouth. She had no doubt that if she decided that she didn’t want to get her hands on him, he would be more than happy to let it go for the time being. But that only made her want to please him more, and she tried to sink that into each kiss she gave him. If he wanted her to wait, Jemma would gladly comply, but all she really wanted was to share with him what he’d given to her. 

Jemma eventually settled her head on his shoulder, lazily teasing his neck and ear while his hands wandered up and down her back, and part of Fitz, deep down in the places he’d locked away long ago to protect his heart, would have been happy to stay like that forever. Of course, that was impractical, but it didn’t stop the urge from flooding through him. And it wasn’t entirely surprising, with the way Jemma had gotten into so many of those spaces without him even realizing. 

Feeling loving and a little lazy, contented, Fitz’ eyes shut again as he relaxed into the curve of the tub. The little trickle of water he’d turned on was keeping the bath at a nearly perfect temperature and between that and the situation he found himself in Fitz was loathe to move. Of course, just as he was edging toward full relaxation, even his previous erection flagging a bit, Jemma playfully nipped his collarbone, soothing with her tongue and drawing his attention back to her. 

He shivered at the swipe of her tongue and glanced down at her, “Caught me driftin’, hm?” The words were playful, the tone warm and perhaps a little amused. 

“Mhmm, I did.” Jemma hummed her agreement as her eyes scanned over his neck as best they could in the darkness, searching for the next place she’d like to nibble at. “I’m starting to think you’re a bit bored,” she teased in a mock-pout before she placed a warm, wet kiss at the corner of his jaw and moved to nibble at his earlobe. She relished his sigh and the way his fingers twitched against her hips, and proceeded to kiss her way down his neck and over to his other clavicle. 

She was quickly finding that this relaxed, responsive Fitz was a treat, and felt a flare of protectiveness ignite in her chest when she realized that this side of him all hers. Hers to kiss and touch and hold and share all the little minutiae of the day with. Suddenly, Jemma found that she was the one who was behind in this instance, and that Fitz had been much quicker on the uptake when it came to wanting to be tender with each other. 

Tender didn’t have to mean chaste, though, and Jemma still very much wanted to see how he responded to her hands on him. Her kiss was far more leisurely now, with no hint of haste, but she still allowed her hands to drift back to his chest. She scraped her nails lightly over his nipples, enjoying the way he shivered beneath her. She did it again, just for the delight of knowing she could, a smile splitting her mouth as her hands continued lower, until her fingers just brushed against the head of his cock. 

“Not bored,” Fitz said, shaking his head. He heard the affection in her voice, so it wasn’t a serious protest, but he wanted to be sure Jemma knew how he felt. “Just comfortable. I dinna think… No, I’ve never gotten t’ do this before, really,” he offered shyly. Jemma gave him a much softer look and returned to kissing him, her fingers wandering again, and this time Fitz was content in knowing Jemma was choosing to do so out of desire and not obligation. And he’d gotten the quiet time with her in between, which pleased him immensely. 

She paused, eyes seeking his in the dim light, and Fitz gave a little nod of encouragement, “Go on, lass.” Shifting, he set his hips a little more comfortably beneath Jemma’s, and lifted his arms to drape comfortably along the lip of the tub. For the first time in his life, or at least the first time since his father first raised hands to him, Fitz placed himself completely into someone else’s hands, physically and emotionally vulnerable to her in a way he’d never tolerate with anyone else. He’d simply grown to trust Jemma that much. 

She watched him get settled, admiring the way the little bit of light bending around the door shone on the dampness of his skin before she leaned in for a kiss. The familiar feeling of his mouth working against hers, lazy and content, bolstered her confidence, and she allowed her hand to close around him beneath the water. 

Jemma Simmons had a little-known voyeuristic streak, at least when it came to her own partners. She generally preferred to keep the lights on when she made love, enjoying the opportunity to see, as well as feel, how her lover responded to her ministrations. She choked down a bit of disappointment that she’d only be able to learn Fitz by feel now with the thought that it was simply something she could learn later, and turned her attention to the sensation of him in her palm. 

He was hard and hot beneath her grip, and thicker than she’d expected. Fitz let out a long groan, his head tipping back further, when she stroked him from root to tip, and she could feel her body respond in kind, eager for him. Jemma grinned, her expression feral, and she leaned forward to nip at his Adam’s apple when she repeated the motion, this time making sure to brush her thumb along the frenulum as she did so. 

Fitz had never been able to be quiet during sex, or even just masturbating, and having Jemma touching him like this made it even more difficult. After those first few strokes, she settled in to torment him with pleasure, learning him much as he’d done to her earlier, teasing a bit and testing to see what he liked best. Fitz unconsciously punctuated her efforts with groans and whimpers and the occasional outright moan. 

Even with Jemma’s weight on him, he still managed to slide down a bit in the tub, forcing him to give up his grip on the edge. Transferring his hands down to Jemma’s hips, his fingers clenched around them, the tightening of his grip signaling when she did something very right. When she somehow discovered what twisting her wrist on each stroke did to him, Fitz’ head thunked back against the porcelain, the tone of Fitz’ moan shifting suddenly from pleasure to pain. 

The sound of his head striking the edge of her tub nearly caused Jemma to stop, her rhythm stuttering a bit as her eyes narrowed in concern. She brought the hand that had been bracing her weight against the wall to the back of his head, checking for any serious damage before she giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation along with him. 

“Ow, fuck,” Fitz swore, but it was more amused than anything as he caught Jemma’s hesitation and tried to brush it off. “Good thing I’m hard-headed, hm?” He belatedly realized the other way his words could be taken and let out a rather undignified laugh, embarrassingly close to a giggle. “Shite. Nevermin’ that. I’m fine, I swear. Go back t’ what y’ were doin’.” 

Jemma caught her lower lip between her teeth, suppressing a grin, and shook her head a bit at him even as she stroked her hand over him once more. This time, though, she repeated the twist he’d seemed to like so much a bit more slowly, and kept her hand behind his head to keep him from concussing himself. 

“I can see the headlines now,” she teased, even as she pleasured him. “‘Local man drowns in tub after insisting girlfriend continue with hand job.’ We’d be famous.” Her mirth was clear in her tone, and she leaned in to kiss him, her fingers winding through his damp curls to keep him from slipping away beneath the water. 

Fitz struggled to kiss her back because he was too busy laughing into Jemma’s mouth, amused by her little quip. “It’d be a hell of a way t’ go, though,” he said, but was soon distracted from the line of thought by Jemma’s continuing efforts on his behalf. He chased her when she tried to draw back from the kiss, hands abandoning Jemma’s hips to tangle in her wet hair. Once he stopped laughing and Jemma was focused on stroking his cock again, he distracted them both with slow kisses, muffling his noises of pleasure with Jemma’s mouth. 

Now that she’d figured out that little trick, he could feel his own orgasm starting to build with each twist of Jemma’s hand, slow but sure. Eventually he had to give up the kisses, but only because he needed to breathe more than he needed to kiss Jemma right at that second, his hips and thighs lifting her in the water as he pushed up into her hand.

It was only once, and the scientist in her would demand a larger sample size before she made any decisions, but Jemma was beginning to think there was something to having to listen for Fitz’ reactions instead of just being able to see them. She knew, even after a few minutes of experimenting with her hands on him that a feather-light stroke of her fingers would make him whimper, the firmer grip that would make him choke off a moan, and the deep groan that precipitated his attempt to unseat her from her perch. 

When Fitz’ fingers tightened where they’d dropped to her shoulders, Jemma realized that teasing him further would just be cruel, and gave up any pretense of doing just that. Working her hand over him in earnest, she leaned forward to suckle at the hollow of his throat as she tightened her grip on him, taking special notice of the crown of his cock. 

Jemma felt him swell against her palm, almost impossibly hard, and with a sharp shout, Fitz jerked beneath her, his hips stuttering as his orgasm overcame him. She kissed him through it, swallowing each little sound of pleasure as her grip loosened and her fingers stroked over him gently. Only when he stopped shaking and gathered enough of his wits to kiss her back did she take her hand off him, and only to pull herself closer to enjoy this new, dazed version of her best friend she was eager to explore. 

Given that he'd taken the time to learn more of what she liked, Fitz was loathe to rush her, even when her experimentation threatened to drive him more than a little crazy. It was different, Jemma's hands more delicate, not quite as strong, but somehow more tantalizing for that difference. She was winding him up all too easily, the coil of heat in his belly twisted tight and ready to let loose at any moment. Well, when Jemma gave him the okay, at least. 

The doubled sensation of her hand snugging tighter around him along with her tongue and teeth on the tender skin of his neck was all the signal he needed. Fitz came apart under her, the spring releasing all at once, and it had never been quite like this. Even with as many times as he'd been with someone, it had never been with Jemma. His mind blanked out, leaving nothing but sensation, between her hands and mouth and the weight of her pinning him into the tub. Probably for the best, that, since it kept him from shaking badly enough to slosh water all over her floor. 

Trusting her not to push, Fitz let himself drop further into post-coital lassitude than he would have with anyone else. Only rousing himself enough to return her soft kisses and clumsily reel her in to cuddle against him, Fitz basked in the feel of her pressed against his over-sensitive skin. 

When he finally managed to speak, it was to laugh weakly, more a rumble in his chest than a sound. "Well, then."

Fitz, sure-handed, confident Fitz, fumbled a bit as his hands roamed her back and bum, causing Jemma to grin against his chest. Pride coiled through her; between the dazed ways his hands were moving over her and the heat of the flush she knew was covering the rest of his fair skin, she couldn’t help it. She had pleased him, well and truly, and that knowledge made her positively giddy. 

Sitting up, she stretched against him, pressing her chest flat to his as she claimed his mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. “‘Well then’ indeed,” she teased between kisses, loathe to let the moment get away from them. Jemma knew they had both been anxious about this, about whether emotional chemistry would equate to physical, and it was a huge relief that it had. At least they knew now that, even with mishaps, this was something they were good at, too, when they were working together. 

Jemma’s mind began to wander down paths better suited to other days, days when they weren’t facing down Fitz’ impending departure and her father’s hospital stay. A few months ago the idea of a romantic future with Fitz might have seemed absurd, but now, here in the dark as they snogged like teens and allowed their hands to wander, it seemed like a certainty. 

Her mind was pulled from that train of thought when she shivered, this time from cold, not pleasure. Not even the little trickle of water Fitz had set to running was keeping the bath water as warm as she’d like, and she pouted against his lips and gave a frustrated little sigh. “Cold,” she murmured, unwilling to pull away from him for more than a few syllables. “Shower or bed?”

“Shush,” Fitz mumbled when Jemma teased him about his “Well, then” comment. He hadn’t really known what to say, and short of praising her effusively, which would have felt both absurd and more than a little patronizing, that was about the best he’d been able to come up with without actually turning his brain back on. 

His trembling hands stroked her reverently, but eventually settled, one splayed at the small of her back and the other curled at the back of her neck. Despite the cooling water - Jemma’s hot water heater could only keep up so long - and the faint distaste of what was now in that water, Fitz resisted moving until her soft complaint registered. If he hadn’t already known just how much he cared for her, finding it cute when she pouted and softly whined about her discomfort would have clued him in. 

“Shower, then bed,” he muttered. “Going t’ have t’ be a quick shower though.” What little hot water was left wouldn’t last long, and if Jemma got any more chilled he’d have to be careful to make sure she got warmed through again. He reluctantly pulled his arms in, letting Jemma pull away and climb to her feet, following after her and tugging the curtain shut as she fiddled with the taps. Fitz couldn’t help but grin - he was male, after all - at the way she’d bent over, and deliberately palmed her arse. “Tease,” he chuckled, “Hurry up, so we can get cleaned up an’ go t’ bed.” 

The feeling of his palm, wide and warm against her cooling skin, was unexpected, and caused Jemma to start a bit, giggling when she heard the grin in his tone. She flushed anew at the idea of just what they could do with her in this position, and filed it away for another day. Right now, sleep was a more pressing matter, but she couldn’t let him get away with such a blatant tease. Jemma wiggled her hips a bit before she pulled the stopper and set the shower running, and grinned as she turned to wrap her arms about his waist. 

“Then stop admiring my arse,” she lightly chided, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before reaching around him for her shampoo. “Otherwise, I don’t think either of us will be sleeping much tonight.” 

“But it’s such a nice arse,” Fitz protested, the teasing tone still thick in his voice. When Jemma turned back around into the spray, he pressed in against her back for a moment, leaning to press a kiss on her shoulder and then her cheek. “Go on, before the hot water runs out. I’ll manage,” he prompted her, shifting back so he’d be less of a potential distraction while she washed. 

He almost wished the lights were on, so he’d have a better view, but as it was Fitz could only see the pale outline of her as she washed her dark hair and then her body. And it wasn’t like there wouldn’t be other opportunities for him to get a better look at her. Or that they would never shower together again. Fitz let out a little sigh - at least, he hoped there’d be other chances. He was probably being silly, but he also might be getting ahead of himself. It was pointless to think about any of the things he’d like to experience with Jemma when he had to leave tomorrow night. Or tonight, depending on the time. It might well be after midnight by now. 

The reminder of just how short their time was deflated his mood a bit, the real world intruding on the little bubble of intimacy they’d created. Going back to Germany, leaving her here alone to deal with everything she had going on, was going to be far more difficult than he’d expected it to be. Maybe he shouldn’t have come home at all. They’d been coping reasonably well before. Now it was going to be bloody impossible.

Jemma hurried through her shower routine, wanting to leave at least some hot water for him. He’d been sweet and affectionate all evening, and even though it was a small gesture, and one Fitz would surely think of as expected, she found herself incredibly pleased by the way he had ushered her under the hot stream of water to wash up first. It was just another reminder of how he would make the effort to care for her, and it left Jemma feeling more affectionate than before, which she hadn’t thought possible. 

Once she was done, she stepped into him once more, and pressing a kiss to his cheek, encouraged him to slip beneath the running water. “Feel free to use my things,” she murmured, bracing herself to step into the much cooler air of the bathroom. She could practically feel the goose bumps forming already as her fingers twisted in the curtain. “I’ll leave a towel for you on the sink.” Looking back at him once more, and giving him a bright smile, she quickly stepped out and dried as quickly as she could, hoping to keep a chill from seeping into her. 

She did as she promised, leaving a fresh towel for Fitz on the vanity before braiding back her hair and padding into her main room. Glancing back at her closet, Jemma briefly considered finding a pair of pajamas, but a sudden weariness overcame her. Even the slight effort of pulling on clothing was too tedious to consider, and so she simply allowed her towel to slip to the floor and crawled between the sheets. 

Fitz let his hand brush gently over Jemma’s hip as she slipped past him, already feeling colder from the rush of cooler air that came with the movement of the shower curtain. The barely tepid water didn’t help and he didn’t bother with his hair, just hurriedly scrubbed himself down. He yelped when tepid turned to frigid just as he stepped back under the spray, and even hurrying, he was chilled through by the time he turned the taps off. 

He’d thought to crawl in naked with her, but given he was still cool to the touch after drying off, Fitz thought it’d be better to actually put his pajama pants on at the very least. Padding out to find his bag, he hesitated when he saw Jemma’s towel discarded on the floor and her already tucked in under the covers, watching him. Fitz hadn’t expected her to go straight to bed, or to clearly have foregone her pajamas. “I’ll be there in a minute, Jem,” he said softly, finding the bag and rummaging for his flannels. And a pair of socks. 

Quickly exchanging the towel for the pajamas and letting out a sigh of relief at the feel of socks against his feet instead of Jemma’s cool hardwood floor, he moved from the armchair over to settle on the edge of the bed. “That bloody water was cold,” he grumbled, reaching to brush Jemma’s hair back from her face. “I’m goin’ t’ make tea, I think. Warm up some before I try t’ sleep.” 

Jemma was proud of herself for only pouting a little bit when he’d slipped into a pair of flannel bottoms; she’d been hoping Fitz would crawl into bed with her without preamble. But, in light of her having used the last of the hot water, she couldn’t very well begrudge him something that would help him warm up. She nodded instead, leaning into the palm he’d left cupping her cheek, and found that she was surprised at how chilled he was. 

“Go on,” she urged nodding toward the kitchen. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.” The smile Fitz gave her caused her heart to melt, and she braved the chilly air to cup her hand over his knee. “Just hurry back to me, yeah?”

“Yeah, o’ course,” Fitz murmured, brushing his fingers against hers over his knee before slipping away into Jemma’s kitchen. Thankfully the electric kettle wouldn’t take long to heat up the water, although Fitz still fidgeted anxiously, preparing his mug while he waited, putting in too much sugar and a splash of cream, same as always. 

Coming back out, he glanced at the thermostat and switched the heat on, putting it on a low setting. Even without his cold shower there was a chill in the air, and it would be better for the both of them - and their potential sleep - if that was dealt with now. Fitz returned to Jemma and sat the tea aside long enough to slide his legs under the blankets, sitting up to lean back against her headboard. The mug was back in his hands shortly thereafter, cradled in his chilled fingers as Fitz gratefully let the warmth sink into his hands and stomach and radiate from there. 

With the duvet pulled up around her ears, Jemma patiently watched the entryway to her kitchen, and counted the minutes until Fitz reappeared. She felt terribly needy doing that, but couldn’t help herself. A quick glance at her bedside clock had shown her that it was half past eleven, and she was suddenly aware of their time growing short now that they had stepped out of their little cocoon. 

She eagerly held up the blanket for him in invitation when he did wander back to bed, and waited for him to get settled before scooting closer. Taking care to not jostle him and spill his tea, she slipped an arm low over his waist and ducked her head against Fitz’ side. Jemma smiled when she realized she could smell the faint lime smell from her body wash on his skin, and nuzzled in a bit closer, wanting to puzzle out just why it smelled so much better on him than her.

Her weariness wouldn’t permit her brain to stay focused for any great stretch of time, though, and soon Jemma found her attention wandering to her father, likely resting in a dim hospital room, hooked up to monitors and IVs and any number of other devices. She had a brief, ridiculous vision of her mother, coiffed and well dressed as ever, curled up in bed with him the way Jemma was curled up with Fitz. The image tugged at her, partially in amusement at her mother ever being so affectionate, partially grateful that she did have someone who she could be loving with, and partially sad that her parents likely never had moments like this, even early in their courtship. 

“Fitz?” she whispered impulsively, glancing up at him through the crook of his elbow as he took a sip of tea. “I… do you ever wonder if our parents had moments like this? Before everything got to them?” 

Fitz was lost in his own thoughts, mostly still caught on wanting to stay in London and not have to go back to Germany, even though he knew he was needed there. And Jemma was musing on something too, he could tell. He left her to her thoughts, willing to be quiet and enjoy the silence between them, until she spoke. Hesitating over his next sip of tea, Fitz eventually shook his head. 

“My parents dinna have anything between them except me an’ their marriage,” Fitz pointed out. “I dinna think she’d have even had sex with him again, willingly.” He’d never seen any sort of affectionate gesture between his parents except in public and even then only in places where appearances counted, like family events for his father’s union. “So, no.” 

Fitz caught the rising tension in her shoulders and back and started a soothing pattern, rubbing his hand up and down Jemma’s arm. “We’re no’ our parents, lass. An’ we sure as hell dinna have t’ be anythin’ like them unless we want t’ be. So I wouldna fuss on that, if I were y’.” 

His fingers still held a slight chill, but the pattern they ran over her bare skin were soothing. Fitz was right. They weren’t their parents, neither his nor hers, thankfully, and they were both set on avoiding the fate of the older couples. In truth, while Jemma didn’t know exactly what the future held for them, she did know that affection would never be in short supply. Even only having been friends for a year that much was evident. 

Jemma waited for Fitz to take another sip of tea before moving herself, taking care to not bump his arm as she did so. She brought the sheet up with her, tucking it beneath her arms as she leaned against his side and studied him. He was adorably rumpled, his curls damp and in disarray, his expression relaxed despite the unpleasant subject matter she’d brought up. She couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t want to be affectionate with him, either by ruffling his hair or kissing him unexpectedly. 

Feeling impulsive, she tipped to the left and pressed a kiss to his cheek before allowing herself to slouch against Fitz, gaze drifting toward the driftwood star on the far wall. “I won’t fuss,” she promised, voice soft. “I just… I mean…” Jemma struggled to find a way to say what she was thinking, that there was a bit of a fear that if their parents had ever been in love that the idea something could go wrong with them, too, wasn’t so terribly farfetched. She looked back toward Fitz, and her heart fluttered when she saw those bright blue eyes, full of affection (and a bit of concern), on her. 

Jemma’s breath caught, and she couldn’t help the small smile that began to tug at her lips in response. Fitz loved her; it was written there for anyone to see, and any doubt fled her mind in a heartbeat. “Never mind it’s silly,” she murmured, eyes glancing down toward his lap. Seeing his hand free, she slipped her fingers through his and gave them a little squeeze. “You just make me incredibly happy is all.”


	34. Chapter 34

Jemma’s breath caught, and she couldn’t help the small smile that began to tug at her lips in response. Fitz loved her; it was written there for anyone to see, and any doubt fled her mind in a heartbeat. “Never mind it’s silly,” she murmured, eyes glancing down toward his lap. Seeing his hand free, she slipped her fingers through his and gave them a little squeeze. “You just make me incredibly happy is all.”

That might have been the one thing that Fitz had never had trouble with, in all his sessions with Dr. Thornton. He’d never once worried that he’d turn out like his father. The closest he’d ever gotten was that time he’d swatted at Jemma when she’d come up behind him, but that had been closer to a blind, panicked flail. He’d wanted to protect himself, not to hurt her, which made all the difference in the world. And now, he was mostly used to Jemma’s touch, welcoming her affection. 

Fitz couldn’t guarantee that she might not ever manage to startle him again, especially when he was tired, but that still didn’t change that he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to hit her. Or give up the warmth held between them. Even as friends (not counting the William months) Jemma had been visibly concerned with little things, like his favorite IPA or his taste in movies. It had taken him longer to figure out how to be what she needed. Being her boyfriend… Fitz was smart. He’d figure this out too, even if these German aerospace people had delayed his studying. 

The press of Jemma’s lips pulled him back from his thoughts, his eyes cutting over to her, bright and eager. Sometimes he really just liked to look at her and marvel at how dear she had become to him. He’d never have dreamed he’d be here a year ago. Her declaration of her care for him had Fitz’ nose wrinkling at the sappy affection, but he tipped his head down to kiss her anyway. “I know, lass. Me too,” he murmured, and curious about her thoughts on the matter, added softly, “A year ago I was knocked out in your hospital. Who’d have thought we’d end up here?” 

“Not I,” she whispered in response, admiring the way his eyes seemed to sparkle in the soft yellow light of her bedside lamp. In truth, all she had hoped for the night they had met was a cooperative patient, and perhaps a bit of entertaining conversation. Jemma hadn’t expected that the club kid who had been brought in high as a kite and concussed would ever mean so much to her. Now… the feminist in Jemma wouldn’t allow her to say that he was everything, and something told her Fitz would be uncomfortable with that sentiment as well, but he was bloody close to it. 

Without his friendship and support, she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted to the news that William had been cheating on her. Or with how to proceed telling Dr. Singh that she preferred a different line of medicine than working the A&E. More than anyone she’d ever known, Fitz had helped her grow into who she wanted to be, and she was grateful for that. She could only hope he felt that she’d done a fraction of the same for him as well. 

Jemma allowed the sheet to drop away and maneuvered herself into his lap, taking care to not upset his mug as she settled her knees on either side of his hips and loosely draped her arms around his shoulders. This felt both more daring, since the lighting was stronger here, and more intimate, with them facing each other, than what had transpired in the bathroom, but Jemma found that she liked it. Feeling sleepy and affectionate, she rested her forehead against Fitz’, and gave him a soft smile. “I mean, I think if anyone had told us last year that we’d be like this,” she practically giggled, looking down between them at her nakedness and Fitz’ apparent comfort with it, “I think we would have thought them daft.”

Fitz took a moment to settle, surprised by Jemma’s move. His arms held slightly akimbo, the mug carefully out of her way so he didn’t accidentally spill tea on her, Fitz waited until she’d stilled before drawing in around her. One arm twined around her waist, the other around her shoulders, the mug braced on her shoulder. She was warm from being under the blankets, and Fitz shivered at the contrast between her body heat and the continued chill of his own skin. 

He chuckled at her words, his eyes sliding shut as her face blurred from being too close. “You’re probably right,” Fitz agreed, smiling in reaction to her sweet and laughing tone. “Me actually being in a relationship, for one, much less happy to be there. And with a woman. Inconceivable!” The Princess Bride reference rolled off his tongue before he’d even really thought about it, although he knew she’d appreciate it for what it was. 

Fitz’ half-assed Vizzini impersonation caused them both to dissolve into giggles, his shaking feeding into Jemma’s in one continuous feedback loop. This was a Fitz she never would have thought she’d know a year ago, or even six months ago, soft and chuckling while holding her rather tenderly. Aware of the way the stoneware mug pressed warmly against her skin, Jemma slowly brought her hands up to cup his cheeks in a bid to keep them both still enough to kiss properly.

It was a lazy slide of lips and tongue, and a bit sloppy as they laughed and sighed in union, but it was wonderful. Being able to kiss Fitz was freeing in the most perfect of ways, and Jemma felt a rush of unadulterated joy as she relished the press of his skin to hers. Unfortunately, that also meant that she felt the chill that still lingered, and her smile involuntarily morphed into a pout as she broke their contact and sat back a bit. 

“Fitz, you’re freezing.” Her admonishment held nothing but concern, and Jemma allowed her hands to drift down to his shoulders and over his biceps, her eyes narrowing as she examined him. “Hurry and finish your tea so you can crawl beneath the covers with me.” Her expression took on a more playful note as she wiggled her brows at him. “Skin-to-skin contact is the best way to keep warm, you know. Trust me. After all, I am a doctor.”

It felt good just to laugh with her, the moment feeling utterly normal if you didn’t count his partial and her full nudity. If only he didn’t have to leave so soon, he could have more moments like this, but no, Fitz had to be back in Germany by the following day. Jemma’s kiss pushed his thoughts back, but they were still lingering in the back of his mind even as he let himself get lost in her. 

Jemma drew back to chide him and Fitz shook his head. “Why should I get under the covers if you’re goin’ t’ touch me like tha’ as long as my skin’s still chilled?” he teased. “An’ technically we’re skin t’ skin now.” He knew what she meant though, and he wouldn’t object to pulling the blankets up to seal in the warmth he was losing to the cool air of Jemma’s flat now. Fitz shifted slightly, sipping at his tea over Jemma’s shoulder, but after a few moments he gently nudged her back and off his lap. 

“Go on, get back under the covers,” he urged. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

True to his word, he was, after draining the last of his tea, putting the mug away and fiddling with Jemma’s thermostat for a moment, nudging the lever to a slightly warmer setting. After glancing around to make sure he hadn’t left anything else out of place, Fitz slid into bed with Jemma. A piece of him was still worried about having to leave her, but others were in giddy shock at the events of the evening and that despite all odds, she loved and wanted him. 

Jemma opened her arms to him when he returned, holding the blankets up for Fitz so he could slip under the covers, and promptly pressed herself against the length of him. For once, she was the warmer of the two, and Jemma shivered a bit as the chilled skin of his torso made contact with hers. Still, she smiled up at him, not wanting him to go all gallant on her and offer to wait to warm up a bit more before holding her. She only had 18 hours or so left with him; she’d be damned if any of them were spent on opposite sides of the bed. 

Wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his chest, Jemma settled in, content to lazily listen to the beating of Fitz’ heart as her fingers brushed over the skin just above the waist of his flannel bottoms. There was a part of Jemma that wanted to push them, along with his pants, off his hips and down his legs so she could feel exactly what it would be like to be tangled up naked with Fitz. She pushed the thought aside, though, knowing it would be a terrible tease to them both, and forced her hand to drift up into safer territory. At least for the time being. 

After a few minutes of just basking in the feeling of having Fitz with her, Jemma craned her neck to look at her bedside clock before collapsing back into position. “The one awful thing about night shift is that I never seem to be tired when I should be… well, at least not until the end of my four days.” She scooted herself closer, and glancing upward, suddenly asked, “If money were no object, what are the top five cities you’d like to travel to?” 

She caught the quizzical look Fitz shot her, and gave a lazy half shrug as she lay next to him. “I’m too wound up to sleep. Humor me?”

The weight of Jemma’s blankets - and then Jemma herself - wrapped around him, and Fitz gratefully huddled into the pocket of warmth there in her bed. She twined herself around his body, head on his chest and Fitz let out a quiet sigh. Everything (well, mostly everything) he’d done since coming to London had been good for him - going out, sleeping around, spending time at the club - but he’d never expected he’d come to crave affection like this. It was confined to Jemma, as the one person he trusted in his personal space, but it still surprised him every time he sought her out and felt this instant sense of… of belonging. 

It had been a long day and Fitz was ready to wind down, comfortable and content, but Jemma’s random question and the lilt to her voice drew his attention. She’d seemed sleepy and ready to settle before, but perhaps that had been the lingering effects of what happened in the bath. “I dinna know if I’ll be able t’ stay awake much longer, baby girl,” he admitted, tipping his face down into her hair, “But I’ll try.” 

He considered her question, fingers idly walking up and down Jemma’s spine. “Hm. Rio de Janeiro. Cairo,” Fitz rambled out a few answers, basically the first ones that came to mind. “Barcelona. Prague. Tokyo, maybe?” It wasn’t a bad list, for coming up with answers on the spur of the moment, and Fitz gave her a gentle nudge in the side when she was quiet after. “What about you?” 

“Hmm,” Jemma hummed in the back of her throat as she stretched, her limbs expanding outward briefly before she collapsed against Fitz. It was slow, but she could feel the flesh gradually warming beneath her cheek, and she slung one nude leg over his flannel-clad one in a bid to speed the process along. She wiggled a bit, settling in against Fitz and enjoying the way his fingers brushed along her bare skin, before answering. 

“New York,” she replied, brain perusing the list of places she’d been and would like to see. “Bilbao. Rome. Paris. Havana.” Jemma tilted her chin up toward Fitz and smile at him. “I might burn rather badly in that last one, but,” she gave as much of a shrug as she could manage from her position and nibbled on her lower lip, “I like the idea of living somewhere warm for a change.” 

“Y’ said travel to, lass, no’ live in,” Fitz said, his voice faintly chiding, but teasing more than anything. “I dinna know if I’d want t’ live in Cairo or Tokyo. Maybe Oslo, or Seattle, or Sydney. Wait. Not Sydney. Too many spiders,” he added with a little shudder. “Germany isna bad, from what I’ve seen, but I’d want t’ be in a city for sure.” 

He returned Jemma’s smile and resettled his arm around her, his temperature finally feeling closer to normal. “But Havana, lass? Tha’s one I’d never have guessed for y’. Why Cuba and no’ somewhere else in the Caribbean?” Fitz was honestly curious and struck by her answers. The others he could have guessed, although he’d have thought Madrid before Bilbao, being the larger city, but Havana seemed out of place. 

Jemma propped herself up on an elbow so she could better see his face, and gave him an achingly saccharine smile. “There’s just something… I don’t know, romantic about Cuba. A little mysterious, maybe dangerous. I know it’s a simplified vision of the country, but I think it’d be nice to explore for a week, or month, or more.” 

In truth, she thought that anywhere would be fun to poke around with so long as Fitz was there with her. True, her parents had provided her with ample opportunity to see the world, and Jemma had latched on to each new place with gusto. Looking back, it occurred to her that perhaps she had been looking for an escape of a sort, a forum where she could express her thoughts without feeling hampered by her family. Now, with Fitz, she had found it, someone she could be purely herself without fear of censure. 

Jemma ran a gentle finger over Fitz’ brow and down his cheek. “We could trade off cities,” she wheedled, enjoying the fantasy of ever having enough money of her own to globe hop with her boyfriend. “Two months in one of your choices, two months in mine.” 

“It’d be nice, explorin’ like that,” Fitz agreed. What he wouldn’t give to be free to wander the world with Jemma, if they both had the time and money to do so, and he said as much. “Too bad we both have t’ work for a livin’,” he muttered. She sounded like she was trying to convince him, but little did Jemma know that Fitz had always regretted not having as many opportunities to travel. Even though he hated change, there was still a piece of him that felt stifled, and even naive for never having really been anywhere besides home. 

Going to Germany was the first time he’d been out of the United Kingdom. He’d been to Glasgow and London and the surrounding areas, the Isle of Skye, but anywhere else? Fitz was clueless, and he hated that feeling. If he was going to travel though, he’d absolutely want Jemma to be with him. Her boundless enthusiasm and positivity would smooth over so many rough patches, wandering in unfamiliar territory. 

Fitz sighed and turned into Jemma’s touch, knowing her idea was virtually impossible unless at least one of them ended up independently wealthy. Perhaps if his aeronautics improvements were successful, it might be a possibility, but there were no guarantees of that. Even if this test program did everything Fitz hoped, there was no guarantee the larger aircraft manufacturers would pick up the technology. 

Even though he was still readily answering her questions, Fitz’ voice had dropped lower, and his movements had slowed, telling Jemma that sleep was creeping up on him. Jemma always found him appealing, even when he was scowling at something or other, but there was something about this sleep-softened version of the man she loved that made her fall a little farther for him. It also fed her impulse to soothe him, and without thinking, Jemma sank back into him, and their nest of blankets. 

“We can plan at least one trip every so often,” she reassured him, nuzzling in against his neck. “Maybe once a year, if we can afford the time off. But now, I think it’s time for bed.” Jemma kept her tone low and even, not wanting to startle Fitz back into alertness, and punctuated her words with gentle kisses as she brushed her hand over his shoulders and down his torso. Her fingers eventually came to tangle in the waistband of his bottoms, and she gave a little tug and pout. 

“Doesn’t seem sporting if you keep these on when I don’t have a stitch, does it?” Jemma very much wanted to feel every inch of Fitz pressed against her, even if that was all she’d be getting, and given what had already transpired this evening, saw no reason not to ask for what she wanted. Now it would be a matter of whether or not he could understand just what it was she was angling for as she tugged at the soft material. 

Jemma was warm and pliant in his arms, all soft skin and gentle curves. Between her presence and the beckoning warmth from the blankets, Fitz was drawn down toward sleep even faster than he’d anticipated. When she fell quiet and dropped the thread of their conversation in favor of kisses, Fitz simply followed her lead, content to be with her and not have to think too much. By the time her fingers tugged at his pajamas, Jemma had lulled him into such a fuzzy, half-conscious state that he didn’t even really question her. 

There was a moment of puzzled confusion, Fitz’ brows drawing together while he tried to understand what she wanted, and then a muffled little noise. “Mm. I s’pose is only fair,” Fitz mumbled, his brogue thickening a bit near sleep. 

Reluctantly pulling away from her, Fitz fumbled the pajamas off. Now that he was mostly warmed back up and tucked in with her, most of the way toward sleep he couldn’t remember why he’d put them on in the first place, except for the added warmth. Completely bare, he unselfconsciously tucked back in with Jemma, snuggling down most of the way under the covers and curling in with his head on her shoulder. If she was going to be awake for a while, she could snuggle him for once. 

Silent, Jemma watched as Fitz wrestled with his bottoms beneath the covers, her teeth planted firmly in her bottom lip to keep from laughing aloud. He looked boyish and sweet trying to comply with her request, and she welcomed him back to her with open arms, pressing a kiss into his curls as she wrapped her limbs around his torso.

His body had warmed back to its usual temperature, and Jemma felt her body relax involuntarily into him. The way Fitz had stretched out against her had put her halfway beneath him, making Jemma feel safe. He certainly wasn’t the tallest or broadest man she’d ever dated, but as her fingers gently brushed over the heated skin of his shoulders and back, drifting from time to time into his curls, she realized he made her feel safer than any of them. It wasn’t that he lacked muscle entirely, no quite the contrary, but the emotional security he provided trumped the physical. 

Grinning softly, and luxuriating in the feel of his breath gently brushing over the tops of her breasts, Jemma rubbed his back until first he, then she, drifted off to sleep. 

Despite being the last to sleep and the excitement of the day before, Jemma’s eyes fluttered open in the golden light of early morning, well before Fitz. Her paramour slept like the dead, still draped across her, his face nuzzled into her neck in what appeared to be an attempt to block out the rising light. A warm, effusive feeling spread through Jemma as she looked down at him and noted the way they had stayed tangled together all through the night. 

She was contemplating trying to drift off once more when she felt Fitz’ stomach rumble against her hip. Feeling an overabundance of affection, she ruffled his curls and kissed his forehead, then carefully disentangled herself from him. She shivered nearly immediately, missing his warmth even though her apartment was certainly warm enough now, and scurried into the bathroom to find his button down. Wrapping herself in it, Jemma paused to look at Fitz, now starfished across her mattress, and smile before venturing into the kitchen to find them breakfast. 

Fitz didn’t have a chance of staying conscious once Jemma started- His thought stumbled as a vague memory of Dr. Thornton telling him he was reacting to something like an affronted cat came to mind. He’d protested and she’d simply told him to think about the comparison. Perhaps he was more like a cat than he’d thought - he’d never thought to like being petted, but there was no other real descriptor for what Jemma was doing. And he was certainly particular, often grumpy, loved to sleep and was selective about who he cared for. 

The corners of his mouth twitched up at the comparison even as he fully relaxed and let himself drift off. 

When he woke the next morning, Fitz was bleary and still a bit tired. Despite sleeping deeply, there hadn’t been enough of it, and the sun streaming into Jemma’s little flat wasn’t going to let him get more at the moment. Disappointed that she wasn’t still curled up with him, the scents and sounds wafting out from the kitchen clearly told him what she was up to. 

Sliding out from under the covers, Fitz shuffled into the kitchen just as Jemma slid rashers of bacon into a hot frying pan, and spied a nearly-full pot of coffee percolating. It was a measure of just how close he was to still being asleep that he didn’t notice what she was wearing for another few beats of watching her. That was his shirt, the tails dangling a few inches under the curve of Jemma’s arse. He suddenly wondered if she’d put anything else on with it, then firmly scolded himself. He was already half-hard, the natural reaction of a male to waking, but he didn’t need to go down that road this morning. 

What he did need to do was properly greet his girlfriend. 

Fitz padded across the tile floor and waited until Jemma’s hands were safely away from all the pans before he slipped his arms around her. His hands found the gap on his shirt where Jemma had left the buttons mostly undone, calluses sliding against her softer skin and splaying over her waist. Trying to resist the physical temptation she presented after the previous night, Fitz resisted doing anything beyond hugging her close and propping his chin on Jemma’s shoulder. “As if y’ werena already my favorite person in the world,” he said, his voice still low and rasped with sleep, “You’re makin’ me bacon an’ coffee.” 

“I would certainly hope I’m your favorite,” she teased, tilting her head against his briefly before craning herself around enough to press a quick half-kiss to his cheek. “Good morning, love.” Jemma did her best to return her focus to cooking after that, although the feeling of his fingertips brushing against her bare waist was too nice for her to pull away. 

Not to mention the simple pleasure of being near to him. She had managed to push the thought firmly to the back of her mind, but Jemma was very much aware that he would be leaving her soon. She wanted to soak up as much of Fitz as she possibly could, and even wiggled back against him, her grin widening as she felt him twitch against her arse. She had always liked this part of a relationship, the reveling-in-the-newness part, and with Fitz it was even sweeter. 

Moving carefully so she didn’t dislodge his grip on her, Jemma reached for the fork she’d been using and checked the rashers while her free hand found his and threaded their fingers together. “The coffee’s ready, if you want to pour some,” she said, giving his digits a squeeze, “and the toast should be just about done, too.”

“Mornin’,” he replied, content to hug her for a long moment, since he could do that now. Being away from her had been hard on them both, in ways Fitz was only just now realizing. Of course, Jemma just had to tease him, pushing back into his body with that little wiggle and Fitz let out a quiet groan, his fingers sliding down to grip at her hips. “Stop tha’, y’ little minx,” he said, chuckling. “You’re a doctor, y’ know I dinna have any control over it.” 

Of course she would choose to tease him. Fitz had a feeling that now that he’d opened the door to the physical aspects of their relationship, that Jemma would be more than happy to keep nudging it further open. But he was still leaving in twelve hours and would be away for at least six more weeks, if not longer. A little voice in the back of his head said he should have been stronger and held her off, knowing the situation, but Fitz couldn’t regret last night. Not when it led to a moment like this, quiet and peaceful and loving, all things he’d never had in his life before. 

She cast him a teasing look over her shoulder before returning her attention to the stovetop and urging him toward the coffee. Moving almost on auto-pilot, still rumple-haired and half-groggy, Fitz moved to the cabinet where Jemma kept the mugs and pulled down two. There wasn’t much point to only making his own, and it only seemed fair when she was making breakfast for him. Adding too much sugar and a splash of cream, to his own cup, and just a hint of sugar and cream in hers, he glanced over to find Jemma’s eyes fixed on him appraisingly. 

“Wha’, lass?” It took him a moment, her gaze sliding slowly down and back up for his sleepy brain to register why she was staring, and for him to blush deeply. Not because he was naked in Jemma’s kitchen, but rather than he was so oblivious it hadn’t even registered. 

Jemma did her best to keep her attention on the stovetop, and not her very naked, very handsome boyfriend, but it was a losing battle. What began as a surreptitious glance as she poked at the bacon quickly became a drawn out appraisal. In her defense, it wasn’t Jemma’s fault that Fitz was so well-formed; he was slender, yes, but well defined, and both the physician and woman in her appreciated the result, from the broadness of his shoulders, to his tapered waist and rather squeezable ass. 

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she allowed her eyes to wander over him once more, and Jemma didn’t hesitate to allow her eyes to meet his. Considering Fitz’ dating habits prior to their getting together, she thought it sweet that he still managed to blush, and snaked a hand out so she could brush her fingers along his hip. 

“Nothing,” Jemma replied, releasing her bottom lip and allowing a full grin to bloom. “Just appreciating the view.” With that she gave him a quick wink and reached around Fitz to grab plates to set the table, trusting that the bacon would be fine on its own for a few moments, and doing her best to not imagine just what might happen if she hopped up onto the limited counter space and wrapped her legs around Fitz’ slim waist. 

Fitz smirked at her. “Of course y’ are. Would y’ believe I actually forgot I took the pajamas off last night?” He laughed softly at his own silliness and lack of self-awareness. “I’m no’ at my best first thing in the morning.” Her arm went around behind him and Fitz stilled until he figured out what Jemma was doing, wary of that particular grin and flirtatious tone. He’d seen her put them to good use before, not always with him, and still didn’t want to start anything they’d come to regret when he was stuck in Germany again. 

He slipped away once she’d gotten the plates, going back out to the main room and hunting his pajamas out of the mess of blankets on Jemma’s bed. Fitz tugged them back on before returning to the kitchen to help Jemma with breakfast, grinning when she frowned at him, looking disappointed. “I’m not going t’ eat breakfast naked, lass. Tha’s just askin’ for trouble. Or burns in uncomfortable places.” 

“What you call ‘trouble,’ others call ‘fun,’” Jemma challenged, smiling all the while so Fitz knew she wasn’t actually upset. As much as she didn’t mind the free show, or Fitz being comfortable enough to wander her flat in the nude, she wouldn’t begrudge him his modesty. After all, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t stopped to put on something before she began cooking; grease burns hurt. “And what burns, Leopold? You’re not even doing the cooking today.”

Working quickly, they got the table set, the food plated, and their full mugs of coffee to Jemma’s small kitchen table, and she scooted around Fitz to fold herself into the interior chair. She took care as she settled in, making sure that, even with her legs tucked beneath her, the longer hem of his shirt kept her privacy intact. 

“No, but just my luck, today would be the day I’m clumsy an’ drop somethin’ in my lap. Spill my coffee or something,” Fitz said, sticking his tongue out at her teasing. He knew she was only playing and he was willing to play along, in a good mood simply from being with her again for this short span of time. Even though he’d come home for a serious reason, he was glad that Jemma had seemed to put her father’s illness and her mother’s spiteful refusal to let her come home out of her mind for a while. 

Even with Jemma taking care with his shirt, the way she’d buttoned it meant that there was a deep vee edging down in between Jemma’s breasts, and Fitz was more than a little fascinated. Not so much with her boobs - he was still mostly gay, even if he was making an exception for Jemma - but with the idea she was all wrapped up in his shirt, and the tempting little flashes of skin he got when she moved.

By the time they’d finished eating, the shirt was hanging off one of Jemma’s shoulders and his fingers were itching to touch again, unaccountably feeling more than a bit possessive. Pushing back from the table, Fitz eyed her and quirked a brow. “C’mere?” 

Hearing the scrape of the chair against the hardwood, Jemma glanced up and quirked her own brow as she finished her last bit of bacon. Fitz’ posture was open as he watched her, sapphire eyes darting over her face, and once every so often over the now-exposed skin of her upper chest and shoulder, before returning to her eyes. His gaze was tender, and pushed any thought of clearing the table and starting on dishes from her mind. Mundane household tasks could be put on hold for the time being, while Fitz was still at home and Jemma was back to feeling like her usual self. 

Still watching her movements, something that was absolutely necessary given her lack of undergarments, Jemma slipped out of her seat and over to Fitz, draping herself breezily across his lap. She brought one of her arms around his neck to secure her seat, while the other tugged his around her waist. “Yes?” she teased, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips before pulling back to look him in the eye once more. “Was there something I could help you with?”

Fitz shook his head and lifted his chin to rest on her bared shoulder. “Are y’ complainin’ about me wantin’ y’ close? Because I can stop, y’ know,” he said, teasing. It was so much easier now than it had been before, being close to her. Germany had been good for him in a way - it made him so much more aware of how much Jemma gave him and how much he missed when she wasn’t around. 

And that, conversely, had made Fitz aware of how little he gave back, physically, at least. 

He knew Jemma understood his background and his hesitations, but Fitz had plenty of time to think on it lately, and it had been a year now. And their relationship had shifted. He needed to do better, and it wasn’t like he’d never thought about being with someone. Fitz just hadn’t expected to find someone who’d tolerate all his little neuroses and awkwardness that he’d also be attracted to and trust enough to let in. It had seemed like such a huge expectation and so unlikely to find that it had been easier to push aside and focus on his other reasons for never getting attached. 

Now that he’d made up his mind and mostly come to terms with his choice, Fitz had no excuse to resist testing his boundaries, being flirty or playful or affectionate with Jemma as the whim hit him. At the moment he was warm and had a full belly and was content to slip his hand under the open placket of his shirt to curve around Jemma’s waist, his thumb stroking an idle arc against her skin. 

The gentle way Fitz held her sent a wave of pure affection through her. The man she’d met last October would never have been this open with his emotions, this gentle and caring. And that’s exactly what he was, keeping her close as he gave Jemma exactly what she needed: an opportunity to be close and touch him. That had been her other great fear, aside from him deciding that she wasn’t who he wanted to try a relationship with, that Fitz wouldn’t be able or willing to touch and be touched, but clearly she’d been mistaken. 

The man who sat with her now couldn't be more different from the man she’d met. This Fitz trusted her implicitly, that much was clear from the way he sought her touch and touched her. Jemma allowed her eyes to slip shut and curled up against him in an attempt to soak in all of the detail she possibly could before he boarded his flight. 

She could feel the heat of his bare chest radiating through the thin button down, the stubble on his chin scratching against the bare skin of her shoulder, the softness of his curls against her cheek… Jemma may have been imagining it, but she thought she could even smell the familiar smell of her laundry detergent and perfume, remnants from Fitz curling up with her in bed, lingering against his skin. 

It wasn't logical, and Jemma knew that the more primitive part the brain causing her reaction, but she felt a seed of possessiveness take root when she realized Fitz smelled like her. It made her want haul him back to bed in the hope it would seep into his pores and follow him back to Germany.

"Not complaining at all," Jemma reassured him, gazing at Fitz lovingly. She brushed her lips against his, and slowly disentangled herself from him to stand next to his seat. The look he gave her, confused and a tad disappointed that she had pulled away, endeared him to her further, and she tugged on his hand as she took a half step back. "C'mon, let's go back to bed."

It was probably for the best that Fitz couldn’t read her mind, because he’d have been intensely unhappy knowing Jemma had been afraid of all those things. Fitz was a product of his upbringing and experiences and he’d spent so much time trying to fight against those influences. His friendship with Jemma had been the first time he’d truly been able to give of himself, and anything that hinted that he’d somehow made her unhappy would never settle well with him. 

Fitz frowned when she drew away, although he followed her willingly back to bed. They both could use more sleep, since Jemma an overnight shift to survive tonight and his flight plus the drive back out to the airfield. And likely a stop at the warehouse to review the progress on the project before going back to his temporary home, because he had too much riding on this project to risk it failing. So it would be a long day and night for both of them, plus being separated again. 

Once they were under the covers again, facing each other across a narrow stretch of Jemma’s bed, Fitz’ mouth quirked. “I vote we dinna leave the flat all day. No’ until I have t’ leave t’ go back t’ Heathrow.” 

Already near enough to feel the heat radiating off the skin of his chest, Jemma wiggled closer, one arm draping over Fitz’ waist as her knee wormed its way between his. “That’s fine by me,” she agreed sleepily, her words slipping out around a poorly stifled yawn. Her eyes fluttered a bit, fighting off sleep with a frustrated little groan. She had a limited amount of time with Fitz; she didn’t want to waste time sleeping while he was home. 

But the warmth of her bed was too great, and Fitz’ presence too tempting, so Jemma found her will to stay awake, or do much of anything productive, quickly fading. And, she had to admit, there were worse ideas than the two of them creating their own little island for a few hours. “We have plenty of takeout menus,” she said, thinking aloud, “and Netflix.” Along with the bookshelves, Fitz had made sure Jemma’s digital entertainment was top-notch, and they could probably hole up in her bed for a week if they really wanted.

“I’ll do you one better,” Jemma teased, brushing her nose against Fitz’ and pulling the covers further over their shoulders. “I say we don’t even leave the bed, other than for necessities. Deal?” 

Fitz laughed and nodded, adjusting to let Jemma settle in. “Alrigh’, it’s a deal.”


	35. Chapter 35

Unlike when Fitz left the first time, his flight was late in the evening and the timing didn’t work for Jemma to accompany him to the airport. He rode with her down to Southwark and the hospital instead, wanting as much time with her as he could get. 

Even so, he was unusually quiet on the train, his arm draped around Jemma’s shoulders and his backpack tucked between his feet. Six more weeks, he reminded himself, and I can be back home again. Early December, if all goes well. Fitz knew they’d make it work, but he didn’t have to like the separation. And he missed his own bed and flat, the bustle of London and all the things to do. The little town in Germany was lacking in such things, and the nearly two hour drive to Munich made that a bit prohibitive on his days off. It made for a lonely existence, and Fitz wasn’t as comfortable with that now as he’d been before Jemma. 

Even in the busy carriage, packed with couples going out to dinner, teenagers with their friends, and families trying desperately to keep their little ones in line, Jemma could practically hear the cogs of Fitz’ brain turning over. He was worrying some problem, of that much she was certain, given the way the hand and arm he’d curled over her shoulders had gone tense and still, and the way the fingers of his free hand picked at denim covering his knee, despite his still all-too-casual posture.

Jemma thought that she could guess at what he was thinking; chances are, she was thinking it, too. That it was unfair to have to be apart, that she wasn’t ready for him to leave, that she very much wanted to be going with him, and that she didn’t quite care about her level of neediness. She just wanted Fitz, and hated that she’d have to give him up again, even if the separation was only temporary. Her fingers slid across his thigh to find his fidgeting fingers, and wound them together, with a quick, tight, squeeze punctuating the act. 

It didn’t calm her nerves any, no more than it calmed him, Jemma was sure, but at least it was a point of contact for them both. When her stop came, she maintained her hold on Fitz as they walked out of the station and toward London Bridge Hospital, drawing as much of him as she could from the warm press of his palm against hers. Perfectly in sync, they stopped just at the side of the employee entrance, up against the wall where he’d first waited to return her text ages ago and turned to face each other. 

“You’ll be home soon,” Jemma murmured, stepping near so she could wrap her arms around his waist. Her head found its favorite spot on his shoulder, and she nuzzled into his neck, searching for one last, deep breath of his scent to carry with her before he had to hurry off to Heathrow. “You’ll be home soon, and we’ll call and text and email in the meantime.” 

The dark thought that their previous forms of communication wouldn’t be enough, not after having him home for a few days, floating through her mind, but Jemma quickly pushed it aside. Voicing that thought would do them no good, no matter how true it might be. She would just find her stiff upper lip and endure until he finally came home for good, and that would just have to be that. 

Fitz barely managed a wan smile for her when she twined her fingers through his, knowing she’d understand his current unhappiness and was likely feeling the same way. He wanted to drag his feet as they got closer to the hospital, but she had to be in her assigned ward and he had to be back on the Underground to make his flight. Sighing softly when Jemma pushed into him, Fitz hugged her close. “I know it’s only a couple of months, but I dinna have t’ like it,” he murmured. 

“Call me if y’ get a bit of downtime aroun’ midnight. I should be in the car, headin’ back out t’ Hausen.” And likely to the airfield rather than the rented flat. Fitz had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, not when he’d be alone in a cold bed halfway across Europe with the memory of last night so fresh in his mind. “I should go,” he added, pressing a kiss to her temple and reluctantly drawing back. 

It still took a few more minutes for Fitz to convince himself to give Jemma a last kiss, tell her he loved her and convince his feet to turn away and head back to the train station. The rest of the evening was a blur, and by the time he picked up the BMW from the parking lot in Munich, Fitz was just numb. He had a feeling that might well be for the best, rather than moping too much about missing Jemma. 

When she’d been younger, Jemma had thought the concept that one person could brighten her entire world more than slightly ridiculous. She was her own person, and made her own happiness. But now, at 24, she realized exactly what everyone else had always been going on and on about. Now, she found herself waiting for her phone to buzz, and an involuntary smile when it did. And, if the doctors and nurses and patients teased her a bit about it, Jemma found she didn’t mind much at all. Just hearing from him made the difficult things just that bit easier. 

Which is why, midmorning on a day off, Jemma’s nose was buried in her mobile screen, messaging her boyfriend. 

Fitz [10:43]: I really need to learn to tell my mum no when it comes to these stupid galas. 

Fitz grabbed his phone off the desk when his text notification went off. He knew it had to be Jemma - the only other people who would be texting him were all here at the airfield, working on the plane. They were moving into the fabrication phase, now that Fitz’ scaled model of the new engine design was working right, and he was excited. Other crews were working on building the planes themselves, so once these first few prototypes were ready, they could be installed right away. 

Tearing his attention away, he read her text and shook his head. 

Jem [10:45]: I could have told you that  
Jem [10:45]: Where are you going this time? I’ll try not to worry about some rich man stealing you away

She giggled silently, nose wrinkling in pleasure at his faux concern that someone could steal her away. If there was anything she was certain of it, it was her feelings for one slightly crabby, but always adorable, Scottish engineer. 

Fitz [10:46]: A fundraiser for LBH, actually.   
Fitz [10:46]: Mum and Dad go every year, but as he’s still in recovery, this year falls to me.   
Fitz [10:47]: At least he’s awake now. Small price to pay to put on a gown, I suppose. 

Sitting back in his chair, taking the opportunity to roll his shoulders and neck loose and stretch his back out of its cramped position, Fitz made a little face at the next messages. Jemma’s father was healing far more slowly than the doctors had hoped, and while he wasn’t in immediate danger, he was still under constant care. She’d been quiet about it, knowing his feelings about her parents, but Fitz knew it was wearing on her. 

Jem [10:49]: You could always tell Vivian to send Addy, instead  
Jem [10:50]: Not that I think that would ever happen  
Jem [10:50]: And I expect photos. 

If Jemma was going to be all dressed up for an event and he couldn’t be there, he at least wanted the chance to see what he was missing - and to compliment her. 

Jemma shook her head as she read her boyfriend’s reply. She wasn’t exactly slumming it, but she had forgone makeup and actually styling her hair in favor of a few extra minutes of sleep this morning. She certainly didn’t feel that she looked her best. 

Fitz [10:53]: If you insist, but I warn you, I look awful today. 

Knowing he would likely protest her statement that she didn’t look her best, Jemma pocketed her phone and began glancing over possible dresses. However, now she was looking for something that would not only flatter her and please her mother’s sensibilities, but also something she thought Fitz might enjoy. 

Fitz grinned at the phone. 

Jem [10:54]: I meant the night of the event, but I’m happy to tell you how gorgeous you are now, too  
Jem [10:54]: Even if you did go out of the flat with your hair in a messy bun and no makeup on

He’d known her too long to not know Jemma’s habits on a day off. It was rare for her to not put on at least a little makeup, but her skin and features didn’t really need it. Or at least Fitz didn’t think so. She’d always been pretty, but somewhere along the line he’d realized she was outright beautiful. Perhaps it was just because he cared about her, but there were times when he glanced over at her and she pretty much took his breath away. Fitz felt far less awkward about admitting that now they were together. 

There’d been a time when he’d felt like a creep, thinking about his best friend that way. 

Purposely ignoring the buzzing of her mobile, Jemma selected several dresses, all appropriate for a gala fundraiser, and followed a clerk to a fitting room. Taking care to hang each dress so it fell properly, she snapped a quick photo of each on its own before slipping them over her head one at a time. 

Torn between two gowns, one a deep, vibrant orange with a nearly-see through bodice, save for some carefully placed sequins, the other a silver chiffon that made her feel every inch a princess, Jemma sent pictures of her modeling each to Fitz, grinning as she stood in the middle of the cubicle in naught but her knickers. 

Fitz [11:11]: [Picture]   
Fitz [11:11]: [Picture]  
Fitz [11:12]: Thoughts?

Staring at the photos, swiping back and forth between the two, Fitz didn’t realize his distraction had been noted until someone cleared their throat behind him and looked back, guiltily, two find two of the junior engineers looking over his shoulder. 

“Who is that?” The one asked in a heavy German accent, nudging the other with an elbow. 

Fitz’ brows creased. He didn’t want to discuss Jemma with these people, but he also needed to keep the peace with them until this project was done. “My girlfriend, Jemma.” 

Both pairs of eyes went wide. “You have a girlfriend? We thought you were gay,” the other engineer blurted out, then flushed red. “Uh. Ahh, never mind. She’s very pretty. We’ll be going now!” She grabbed the other engineer’s sleeve and tugged him out after her, leaving Fitz alone in the room with his phone. 

The Scot stared after them, scowling. This is why he didn’t like people. They tended to be nosy and obnoxious and wanted to know everything, even when it was none of their business. Taking in a deep breath, he returned his attention to Jemma’s photos. 

Jem [11:26]: Like I said, you’re always gorgeous  
Jem [11:27]: You look amazing in both, but I think I like the orange better  
Jem [11:27]: Not every woman could wear that color - it’s striking

Jemma blushed at Fitz’ compliment, reading quickly as she gathered her things. Draping the orange gown over her arm, she considered the silver once more before grabbing it, too, and handing them off to the clerk who had been assisting her. She answered Fitz as her purchases were rung up. 

Fitz [11:34]: Thank you, love.  
Fitz [11:34]: But the color? Really? That’s what you found striking?

Fitz reread the second message twice, trying to figure out what she meant. It wasn’t like Jemma to fish for compliments, and he felt like a dolt when he realized, laughing at himself. 

Jem [11:37]: Okay, so it shows a fair amount of skin, too  
Jem [11:38]: Did I just fail a boyfriend test of some sort for not immediately gawking?   
Jem [11:38]: ;-)   
Jem [11:39]: Honestly, that’s a lot of you exposed, but it’s still classy, however the designer made that work

The second text was meant teasingly, but Fitz also meant it. Sort of. Sometimes he thought there was a disconnect where he didn’t act or react in ways that Jemma expected him to as her boyfriend and it threw her off a bit. He’d never had a girlfriend before - it wasn’t like Fitz knew all that much about it beyond television and movies, and even he knew better than to completely trust that as a guide. 

Fitz [11:41]: You didn’t fail anything.

Jemma rushed to reassure him, well aware that despite the joking tone of the text, it was entirely possible that Fitz was still feeling uncertain as to how to act with her. She didn’t want to shake his self-confidence, particularly not over something as trivial as how she looked in a dress. 

Fitz [11:42]: And it works thanks to some carefully placed detailing, and a bra that somehow manages to defy gravity.   
Fitz [11:42]: You should write the designer, ask about potential engineering applications. :-P

Jem [11:43]: Hahahaha, very funny. Perhaps if I manage to finish this project without killing anyone and getting sent to jail

He sent that with the memory of the other engineers’ comments still fresh in his mind. Fitz had mostly come to terms with being gay, but the new twist thrown at him this year was still settling in. He didn’t need anyone else’s commentary on how odd it was to be gay except for this one woman. No matter how amazing or how worthy she was of being that exception. 

Jem [11:44]: I guess I’ll find out which one you chose the night of the gala? When is it?

Settling into a taxi, Jemma gave her address to the driver and sat back to read her messages, a small pout taking over her mouth. Even jokingly, the idea of Fitz in jail did not sit well with her. 

Fitz [11:49]: Thursday. Singh was kind enough to rearrange my schedule, thanks in large part, I’m sure, to Vivian.  
Fitz [11:50]: And no going to jail, please. I have plans for you.   
Fitz [11:50]: Plans that would be difficult to carry out with you locked away. 

Fitz raised a brow at the incoming messages. What was she up to? It wasn’t that Jemma never flirted with him, but there was something more about this one. Jemma’s flirting was usually more casual, a line slipped into a conversation and only giving him enough time to notice it before she’d bounced along to something else. Curious, he played along, wondering if maybe he was reading her wrong. 

Jem [11:51]: Plans? What sort of plans are we talking about?   
Jem [11:52]: Because, you know, if they involve me, I’d kind of like to know  
Jem [11:52]: Unless you have a good reason why I shouldn’t, of course

He hated surprises and Jemma knew it. Especially when he was being teased about the surprise beforehand. 

She nibbled at her lower lip, debating how blunt she should be as she watched London whip past her window. She had never been shy, per se, when it came to flirting, but she had never been particularly bold, either. At least not like she was being right now. Coming to a decision, she tapped out a response and quickly pressed “send” before she could change her mind, or worry too much about scaring Fitz off. 

Fitz [11:55]: The kind that involve you, me, and a distinct lack of clothing. Possibly a bed.  
Fitz [11:55]: Although that’s optional. 

Glancing at the messages and then at the clock, Fitz pushed off his stool, pulled his coat on and headed outside before answering Jemma’s messages. He was terrible at flirting. He’d thought Jemma knew and that’s why she never waited for him to try and flirt back. If he was even going to attempt it, he didn’t need witnesses watching his blushes. 

Jem [11:58]: Well, well, Jemma Catherine. Bed optional?  
Jem [11:59]: Let’s get the first time out of the way before we start getting creative, hm?  
Jem [11:59]: I have the feeling that between the two of us, that could be a LOT of trouble :-D

Similar to what Jemma had done in London, he typed and sent fast, not letting himself think too hard. Once they were gone, he ducked into the employee cafeteria and into line, intending to get his lunch and eat in his car. At least that way no one would bother him. 

A warm flush ran through Jemma, starting in her chest and spreading out to her limbs as her mind began to run wild with images of the two of them. Her mind caught on the image of Fitz’ hands, and those long, dexterous fingers, and squirmed in her seat, knowing exactly what they were capable of doing to her. 

Fitz [12:01]: What some call trouble, others call fun.  
Fitz [12:01]: Besides, nothing worth knowing was ever achieved without at least SOME experimentation.   
Fitz [12:02]: Really, we’d be a disgrace to science if we eschewed creativity entirely. 

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but Fitz firmly resisted looking at the messages until he had his meal in hand and was headed toward the employee lot, nodding at a security guard he passed on the way. Once he’d slipped into the front seat of his rented BMW, he sucked in a breath and looked. In some ways it was better, some worse, than what he’d expected. Less explicit, certainly, but more fantasy inducing, as his brain immediately recalled some of the dreams it had presented to him in the last several months. 

Jem [12:09]: I never said it wouldn’t be fun  
Jem [12:09]: Only that you go easy on the innocent gay man the first time around

Fitz almost wished he could see Jemma’s face for that second line. Even he couldn’t help but smirk as he typed it. The only reason he was ‘innocent’ was because he’d never been with a woman before. Past that… There had been plenty of experimentation. And if that turned out to be something Jemma was into, well, he wasn’t going to complain. 

Jem [12:10]: After that… challenge accepted   
Jem [12:10]: We might have to work out a points system and see who wins

A sharp laugh burst from her mouth as she read his messages, and she quickly shot the driver and apologetic look as he pulled up to her door and helped her out of the car. Only once he was well compensated, and she was safely ensconced in her flat, did Jemma dare answer. 

Fitz [12:14]: I’m game, so long as the rule are clear. No Slytherin trickery from you.  
Fitz [12:14]: I’ll even be sporting and allow you a handicap.   
Fitz [12:14]: Unless you have an array of lace knickers you haven’t shared with me yet. 

Jemma carefully stored the gowns, her smile growing more than a bit wicked as she thought of several bra and panty sets she thought would cause Fitz to swallow his tongue, if she played her cards right. 

Fitz [12:15]: And trust me, Fitz.   
Fitz [12:16]: By the time I’m done with you, your innocence won’t even be a concern. 

He felt his cheeks heat, just as he’d expected. Being with Jemma continuously surprised him, but this… Had he ever flirted with anyone like this? Playfully, without real expectation, just for the fun and affection - okay, and perhaps a bit of serious intent? Fitz couldn’t remember it ever happening. Flirting at the club was all tease and eventual follow up if he decided to go home with someone. This was different. 

So very different, and it meant more. He didn’t want to be terrible at being Jemma’s boyfriend. She deserved better, and thankfully she usually made things easy on him. Fitz kept that in mind before he panicked a bit about any of this. Besides. She’d just called him a Slytherin. At the very least, he knew what to say to that. 

Jem [12:18]: Hey, we can’t all be overly honorable Gryffinclaws like you.   
Jem [12:18]: There’s a time and place for sneaky and unexpected

Eyeing the next few messages, he startled at the implication that she was going to use lingerie against him. His first instinct was to scoff, but a mental image of Jemma in Gryffindor red satin had his mouth feeling drier than the desert. Shit. Perhaps he was susceptible. And in some ways, he was looking forward to getting past his hesitance about being with her. 

Jem [12:19]: By the time you’re done with me?   
Jem [12:19]: That almost sounds like a threat… should I be frightened?   
Jem [12:20]: Or is that a hint I should start planning those unexpected things?  
Jem [12:20]: Purely for self-defense, of course ;-)

Finally home, Jemma tucked into her favorite corner of her sofa and read the messages Fitz had sent her. It felt good, both flirting with him and him responding positively to her more overtly flirtatious attentions, and her mind happily wandered into its own bit of fantasy. Lord knew there were plenty of dark corners in the clubs Fitz, and later she, frequented, practically custom-made for the sneaky and unexpected. She squirmed in her seat, smiling slyly as she responded. 

Fitz [12:24]: Overly honorable is a bit much, no?  
Fitz [12:24]: After all, whose idea was the bath, anyway?

For the first time since this little exchange has started, Jemma worried that perhaps she’d been too forward. Fitz wasn’t like the other men she’d dated, but she worried that the male ego would be the one way in which he was the rule, not the exception. Yet, she wasn’t sure he would ever be so bold as to make these kinds of spine-tingling, heart-stopping, delicious comments to her without a bit of prompting, first. 

Fitz [12:26]: And it wasn’t a threat, darling.  
Fitz [12:26]: More like a promise. 

Jem [12:27]: Oh please, you didn’t know what was going to happen in the bath when you suggested it  
Jem [12:28]: That was my idea  
Jem [12:28]: Speaking of unexpected

Fitz’ fingers flew across his screen to send that message, almost feeling like he needed to defend himself. He’d unknowingly gotten her too worked up, plus frustrated her over the space of weeks and months, and he’d wanted to give to her. He’d never expected her to reciprocate. Wanted, yes, but it had never been an expectation. 

He considered how to respond to her next text, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Flirting was not supposed to be stressful underneath the fun of it. 

Jem [12:30]: And that’s good… just don’t make me any promises you don’t fully intend to keep

Despite the warmth of her flat, Jemma shivered beneath her throw. The mere memory of Fitz’ hands on her was enough to cause that reaction, and after this conversation, she could easily see that by the time she saw him again, she’d likely be just as wound up. Particularly if they made a habit of exchanging messages like this. 

Fitz [12:32]: Trust me. I fully intend to keep each and every promise I’ve made you.   
Fitz [12:32]: And I intend to make sure you walk away fully satisfied. 

~*~

The natural high of flirting, mostly successfully (she thought), with Fitz kept Jemma buzzing for days. She had always looked forward to the little messages and notes he sent her during the day, but now there was an extra bit to it, the excitement of a new relationship that they had missed, what with how naturally they had slipped into being together. The distance between them now gave them a chance to experiment with that, play with it just a tad. 

Except, it had been a good three days since she’d been able to say anything even remotely flirtatious. 

Jemma’s mind chewed on that particular question as she got ready for the fundraiser she’d be attending, carefully styling her hair in an updo and applying just enough makeup to be considered passably acceptable. It wasn’t until she was sliding her knickers up her thighs that it occurred to her. 

Most men were visual. 

Fitz was a man. 

Her phone had a camera. 

Clad in only her lingerie, she fussed for a moment or two over lighting and position, and snapped a few quick pictures. Finding one she was satisfied with, and nibbling her lip nervously, Jemma typed and sent Fitz a message. 

Fitz [18:39]: Next message is for your eyes only. 

She paused, giving him a few minutes to see and read the first text, before sending another, her stomach churning in anticipation of his reaction. 

Fitz [18:42]: [Picture]  
Fitz [18:42]: Told you it defied gravity. 

Fitz’ day had not gone well to say the least. The team with the aerospace company kept questioning his design, and while Fitz understood their concerns, the questions combined with the constant interruptions to ask them had first frustrated, and then pissed him off. He’d snarled everyone out of his space and popped his headphones on to fully focus on making the newest set of adjustments. 

The project was moving, he reminded himself, and on a short deadline. The closer he got to perfecting the engine and fuel system, the sooner they could finish building the planes and get them into testing. And the closer he got to perfecting it, the more finicky, fiddly details would be noted. It was a backward compliment of sorts. Now he just had to remember that. 

He’d finally accepted all their questions at a late afternoon meeting, and today’s queries had his brain circling. One of the QA testers had brought up a potential safety concern, and unlike most of the other things suggested, that one had given Fitz pause. It was a possibility. Not a likely one, but if he could mitigate the risk, he’d feel better. 

And so when Jemma’s text came through, he was behind the wheel of the BMW, driving blindly through the German back roads and trusting GPS would get him back to the airfield when he decided to go back. 

He slowed to read the first message, a little smile crossing his face. Fitz hadn’t texted her earlier, trying not to let his mood bleed over onto her, but he felt better just hearing from her. Curious about the surprise, he’d just pulled off to the side of the road when the photo came through. Fitz wondered if Jemma knew her hesitance about taking the picture was evident in it, her posture and expression just a bit off. No one else would likely notice, but he knew her too well. 

Besides, the rest of it registered a split second later, leaving Fitz grinning at the screen. His girlfriend. The next few messages went back to her fast, Fitz typing rapidly.

Jem [18:43]: Are you trying to kill me?   
Jem [18:43]: I’m glad I pulled off the road before I looked  
Jem [18:43]: And how does that bra even…   
Jem [18:44]: Lingerie that defies the laws of physics  
Jem [18:44]: On my Jemma  
Jem [18:45]: Check: fantasies I didn’t even know I had

Jemma’s eyes went wide as she read his first message, worried that she’d upset Fitz by sending the picture. In a lot of ways, he reacted the way she’d come to expect men would react to a significant other, but there were times when he surprised her. She had never sent nude, or even partially nude, photos before, but she’d had a few acquaintances who had and had been pleased with the results, which had helped her cement her impulsive decision. 

Just as she began to draft an apology in her head, the rest of the messages came through, each one loosening the knot her belly had become, until it finally cracked open entirely when he called her his Jemma. It might have made her an awful feminist, but she rather liked knowing that Fitz thought of her as his. Hearing him admit he liked the image of her in barely-there lingerie, though, finished the job, and it was with a wide, giddy grin, that she texted him back. 

Fitz [18:46]: No dying.   
Fitz [18:46]: We have plans, remember  
Fitz [18:46]: Plans that may or may not involve you peeling this bra off me as soon as you come home. 

He was still staring at the photo. Not because - okay, not only because - Jemma was mostly unclothed and showing a whole lot of skin that he’d only gotten to touch and not so much to see and explore, but because she was just that gorgeous to him. Jemma always seemed so small, but she had curves when she chose to show them off, and miles of pale, delicate skin. She’d worn a string of pearls to one of the parties he’d gone to with her, and Jemma had that same subtle glow as the jewelry. 

Interrupted by the phone buzzing in his hand, Fitz clicked back into the messages and huffed out a laugh. “Oh, Jemma,” he chuckled as he tapped in another set of replies. 

Jem [18:48]: We’ll see about that  
Jem [18:48]: I might decide on payback for teasing me with pictures like that  
Jem [18:49]: Suddenly I don’t know how I feel about you going off to this gala without me, knowing what you’re going to be wearing  
Jem [18:49]: And knowing what’s under it

She was busy pulling her stockings up her calves and cataloguing the other lingerie she owned, attempting to sort out which Fitz might find most appealing, when her phone buzzing against her vanity drew her attention. Eager hazel eyes darted over to where the mobile sat, seemingly innocent, and Jemma had to force herself to keep her movements smooth, not wanting to rip a hole in the delicate material before she looked at her screen. 

A delicious shiver ran down her spine, leaving a pool of heat in its wake, even as tenderness tugged at her heart. She was certainly intrigued by the idea of what, exactly, Fitz would consider appropriate payback for her teasing, her focus landed on his last two comments. He had been careful to keep his tone light, but Jemma knew him better than that, knew the insecurities Fitz carried with him, and saw them peeking through his teasing. 

Fitz [18:55]: Believe me, I was thinking about you as I put it on  
Fitz [18:55]: I’m thinking about you now  
Fitz [18:56]: And I’ll be thinking about you when I take it all off to slip into bed later

His cheeks flushed again, in pleasure this time, knowing she was thinking that way about him. Fitz still hated that he’d been sent off to Germany just when they’d gotten together. It had put a screeching halt on the development of their relationship, and although Fitz was thoroughly enjoying the slower build created by the limited avenues of communication, there were moments like this when it would be so much easier if he was just there. 

Not because he didn’t trust her - Fitz knew Jemma would rather walk through fire than be unfaithful, once she was committed to anything, much less a relationship - but because he’d come to realize that he was proud to be with her. For whatever reasons, beautiful, brilliant Jemma Simmons had chosen him. And the last thing he wanted was for her to ever think that he didn’t appreciate that. Fitz might still be working through lingering worries about being with her, but when she sent him messages like that… 

Fitz had given up on the idea of being in a relationship long ago. Given the poor example his parents set, and then his own difficulties in getting to know anyone, it had simply been easier than to face the disappointment and loneliness of always being on his own. And while eventually he’d been happy with his independence, he was coming to realize that somewhere deep down he’d craved this sort of intimacy. Of trusting another person so deeply that you could say anything knowing that thought would be caught and kept safe; that it was important and valued. 

Jemma had given him that from almost the very beginning. Was it any wonder he’d fallen for her, making a one of a kind exception to his long-held (and sometimes troublesome) preferences? 

Although, given his decided interest in Jemma being naked in bed and thinking about him, perhaps he’d never been completely homosexual at all - he just hadn’t found the right person. Surely there was a term for that? He’d have to look. 

In the meantime - he caught himself musing with a start. She was probably fussing - worrying - over why he hadn’t replied yet. 

Jem [19:08]: Really?   
Jem [19:08]: I’m going to be thinking about that all evening now  
Jem [19:09]: December can’t get here soon enough

Fitz was right- Jemma’s heart was in her throat as she waited to hear from him, her nerves pinging just a bit more with each minute that ticked by without a response. She distracted herself by finishing her preparations, slipping into her dress and picking her jewelry, when she heard her phone go off again. Her lips twisted into an amused grin as she read the messages. She could practically hear Fitz’ disbelieving-yet-wistful tone. 

Fitz [19:11]: Yes, really.   
Fitz [19:11]: And no, no it can’t.   
Fitz [19:11]: Tell those people you’re working with no more delays. I need you home. 

Jemma stepped into her heels and paused just long enough to take a full-length picture of her ensemble in her wardrobe mirror. 

Fitz [19:15]: [Picture]  
Fitz [19:15]: That one you can share… if you want. 

Satisfied she got her point across, Jemma tucked her mobile into her clutch, found her peacoat, and made her way down to the street to find a taxi. At least with Fitz at easy access via text message, the evening wouldn’t be an utter waste.


	36. Chapter 36

She would never quite be sure how her mother did it, but somehow, no matter how well behaved Jemma thought she’d been, Vivian Simmons found something to call and gripe at her about. Which was why, when three days after the event she saw her mother calling, Jemma felt her heart sink. She’d thought she’d escaped the usual post-gala lecture this time. Foolish her. 

Struggling to keep her tone civil as she looked away from her lunch, Jemma answered the call. “Good afternoon, Mother. What can I do for you?”

“Jemma! Darling, how are you?” Vivian bubbled out. She was feeling magnanimous that morning with the announcement that Elliott was being released from the hospital at last, to finish recovering at home. And she was curious about her daughter’s doings, after the reports she’d gotten from her friends at the gala. “I just wanted to let you know that your father is coming home today, so if you would like to come home and see him, you can do that now.” 

Now that it wouldn’t be such a headache for her to manage her ailing husband along with her daughter’s overly solicitous attempts to subvert the care he was already receiving. Or disrupt the delicate balance she was maintaining with her two younger daughters. And the carefully managed facade of stability, knowing just how close the family’s image had come to being destroyed if it was known that her husband had been cheating on her. 

Her mother’s bright tone gave Jemma pause. She couldn’t remember the last time she had heard the older woman sound so unapologetically enthused. On any given day, Vivian sounded bored at best, and downright spiteful at her worst. This… this was something entirely unprecedented in Jemma’s world. On her guard, but hoping for the best, she allowed about of the happy lilt that usually made up her speech creep back in. 

“That’s wonderful news! I’ll speak to Dr. Singh and see about getting a few days to come see Dad.” She was coming up on the end of her residency, and her supervising doctor had been kind enough to offer to keep her on as an on-call doctor until she found a full time position, either at another hospital or with the coroner’s office. Perhaps she could talk him into a few days’ vacation time before her schedule became entirely madcap. “I’ll let you know as soon as I speak to him. Hopefully he’ll be around tonight, and you hear from me at a decent hour. If not, I’ll call on my way home.”

Vivian paced around her office, fussing with various items as she spoke to Jemma. “Now, Jemma, don’t go out of your way. It’s been weeks and you haven’t been here to see him. Waiting another few days won’t make much difference. I just wanted to let you know.” Now that she’d gotten the perfunctory conversation out of the way, passing along the information about her wayward husband, the older woman turned her attention to her daughter. 

Jemma’s continued reluctance to conform to Elliott and Vivian’s expectations had been a thorn in her side ever since Jemma had chosen to go to medical school after graduating so early. At least she wasn’t a rebellious creature like Adelaide, Vivian thought bitterly. That child would be the death of her, with her antics. She’d never worried about Jemma causing a scandal, at least, only that she’d never settle down and be a proper representative of the Simmons family. At least, not until that Scottish boy had shown up. The news that Jemma had attended the gala alone gave her hope that might be well and truly over by now. 

“So, how was the party? I was so sorry to miss it, but I just don’t think it would have been appropriate for me to attend, given everything here.” 

Jemma’s brow furrowed at her mother’s hasty retreat, puzzled as to why she would invite her to come home one moment and back pedal the next. She had been patient these past two months, waiting for her mother to determine her dad was recovered enough to receive visitors. In part, she knew that it was Vivian’s way of controlling the situation; ever since she’d been a young girl, her mother had been hell bent on dictating each and every member of the Simmons’ family movements. She had survived by agreeing with her mother on most things and carefully picking her battles on others while living in Devon, but now, several years removed from that mindset, it chafed. Badly. 

Still this was one of those moments when Jemma realized that fighting with the older woman would do no good. She made plans to speak to her supervisor tonight, even as she went along with her mother’s abrupt conversation change. “The usual,” she replied, tone bored as she went back to swirling her spoon through her soup. “Same names, same gossip, same caterer. The hospital administrator was pleased, though. Apparently it was a record year for donations.” Jemma took a delicate spoonful of chicken noodle soup and continued, “Oh, and Wilhelmina sends her love. She said she’d been trying to get a hold of you, and asked me to let you know.” 

“Indeed,” Vivian agreed, “I did see the financial reports, and it was quite a coup for the fundraising team.” As one of the co-chairs of the development committee, she had a vested interest in making sure those events were a success. This time around she hadn’t been as involved as before and part of Vivian was half-tempted to be huffy about the event doing so well even without her presence. She knew some might say it had done better because of her absence and that knowledge burned another spiteful little space in her stomach. 

“And Wilhelmina. Yes, I’m aware. If you see her again, feel free to remind her that I’m quite busy caring for your father. I haven’t made myself available for social engagements, and she is a dear, but she’s also quite pushy. If she calls again, I’ll put her off myself, of course,” Vivian sniffed. She was entirely certain at least a few people had put two and two together about her husband and the woman he’d been with. The odds of both of them being in a serious accident on the same night in the same area were rather slim, after all. However, the four adults had agreed not to speak of it, and so as far as Vivian Simmons was concerned, it was over and done. 

For the moment, however, she had another agenda. “I do wish you’d told me that Scottish boy was out of the picture, Jemma. How embarrassing, to be at the gala event of the year without a beau!” Vivian tucked the phone under her ear, freeing both her hands to fuss with a floral arrangement under the window overlooking the gardens. “Anne’s son - Anne Winthrop, I mean, not Anne Essex - has just finalized his divorce. You remember Chandler, don’t you, darling? He’s a doctor, like you. Cardiology, I believe? He’s a few years older than I’d like for you, but he’s so charming.” 

The spoon clattered against the edge of the bowl as Jemma’s spine stiffened. Of course her mother had an agenda, and of course she’d been more in tune with who hadn’t been present than how much had been raised. And naturally, she’d zeroed on in Jemma’s lack of a date. 

“I have a beau, Mother,” Jemma replied, snowflakes practically dropping off of her lips. She had a feeling that this would be a never ending fight with the Simmons’ matriarch, for as long as she and Fitz were together. Given that she planned on being with him for the foreseeable future, it had to stop. “He’s in Germany, although he was just home to visit me. He sends his regards.” 

She didn’t bother to include that they weren’t warm regards; Vivian was plenty of things, none of which were “stupid.”

“Don’t speak to me in that tone, Jemma Catherine.” Vivian snapped. “Germany. What in God’s name is he doing in Germany? Goodness knows what he might be getting into over there. I can only imagine, given his lifestyle.” The insinuation was heavy in her tone, that Fitz was involved in unsavory activities. Of course, Vivian was appalled at the idea of her daughter being involved with someone who was sleeping with other men on a regular basis. She let that stone fall into the icy silence from the other end of the phone before snapping back into the carefree facade she usually saved for her society friends. “I suppose you’ll find out soon enough. Do let me know when you’ll be here to see your father, so I can make sure your room is ready.” 

Jemma refused to play her mother’s game, refused to give in to the insinuation that Fitz was fucking around while she pined at home. She knew better. More importantly, she knew him. She knew what it meant for him to say I love you, the weight those words carried for him, and how committed he was to the idea of there being a ‘them’. 

“That’s the benefit of dating Fitz, Mother,” Jemma snapped back. “Unlike William or Father, he understands the concept of ‘one at a time.’ I’ll speak to Dr. Singh tonight and let you know when I’ll be home.” 

She disconnected the call without bothering to wait for Vivian’s response, seething from the slight to Fitz. He was easily the best thing that had ever happened to her, and for the first time in her adult life, Jemma was beginning to realize that her mother didn’t have her best interest at heart. Sure, Vivian wanted her to be healthy and successful, but Jemma’s happiness only mattered if it was in line with what was good for the family. Fitz, in her mother’s mind, would never equal that. 

Appetite destroyed, Jemma picked up her bare-touched bowl of soup and dropped it in the kitchen sink. The only energy she had went into setting her alarm and crawling back into bed in the hopes of getting a few more hours of sleep before going in for her shift. Before she drifted off, though, she sent two quick messages to Fitz. 

Fitz [13:10]: Love you  
Fitz [13:10]: Miss you terribly 

~*~

Four days later, Vivian eyed her oldest daughter across the breakfast table. Jemma had been avoiding her since her arrival mid-day yesterday, and had looked distinctly uncomfortable when Vivian sat in the seat opposite. She hadn’t forgotten their aborted phone conversation and was sure Jemma hadn’t either. She’d always been defensive of that Fitz boy, and Vivian simply didn’t understand it. Jemma was so smart. How did she not see he had to be using her? He was gay. He couldn’t possibly want Jemma, so he had to want something else. Given what she and Elliott knew of his background, her first instinct was the family money.

“So, I think it’s about time that you and I had a serious discussion about Leopold Fitz. And about your future,” Vivian said baldly, straight-backed and serious in the uncomfortable dining room chairs. There was a titter from down the table, where Addy and Michela were just finishing their breakfast, but a steely dark stare sent both of them scurrying out of the room. Although Vivian wasn’t under any illusion that they’d gone - probably eavesdropping from around the corner, eagerly waiting to see their older sister get yelled at for once. 

Jemma sat back and pushed her plate away with a soft sigh. In truth, she supposed she admired Vivian’s restraint. She had expected to be having this conversation last night over dinner. Waiting an entire 18 hours to prove a point was a record for her mother. It really was rather impressive. 

“Traitors,” she muttered as her sisters hurried out of the room before turning her attention back to their mother. “What about Fitz?” Jemma fought to keep her tone neutral. This was going to be bad enough without her being snippy. That would come soon enough, although Vivian likely didn’t know it yet. She had always underestimated, it seemed, just how dear Fitz was to Jemma, but would soon learn if she became too vocal in her judgment of him. 

“I’ve spoken with your father, and we’re both concerned about his influence on you, Jemma,” Vivian said evenly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “He comes from a rather unsavory background - yes, we checked - and we feel that he may be taking advantage of your generosity. It doesn’t seem odd to you that a homosexual man has taken such an interest in you? You’re smarter than this.” 

Her mother wasted no time, so neither did Jemma. “What unsavory background? His parents? Plenty of people had difficult childhoods, Mother. It doesn’t make them lesser than anyone.” She crossed her arms below her breasts, hands clenched around her upper arms to keep them from shaking as she spoke. “And Fitz is far more generous than I am. He took me on vacation, and refused to let me cover anything, for Christ’s sake! All he’s ever asked for is my time and attention, and I’m happy to give it to him.” 

Vivian didn’t rise to the bait, busying herself with preparing her teacup. “Indeed. Perhaps you’re unaware that your dear friend Fitz was thrown out of three schools before finally graduating? Or that he was arrested twice for assaulting his father. And he has a quite well known reputation within the London gay community for…” She paused and cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the topic, “Acquiring and disposing of sexual partners?” 

“You called Bellamy?!” Jemma couldn’t keep herself from raising her voice, not with what her mother had revealed. Her father had kept a rather unsavory private investigator on his payroll for years, using him to dig up proprietary information on his business rivals, and she had often suspected her mother of using him for personal vendettas, but this was a new low. 

“How dare you? You, who only bothers to trot me out when you can’t be bothered to make it to London? Or when one of your friends’ sons needs a date? Fitz is worth a dozen of them, easily!” Jemma pushed herself away from the table and shot out of her seat, throwing her linen napkin into the empty space between herself and her mother. Jemma stared the older woman down, hazel eyes blazing and chest heaving as she struggled to bring herself back under something that at least resembled control before speaking again. 

“For the record, Mother, Fitz disclosed all of that to me. He told me about his father and mother. He was honest about his sexual history. He has never lied to me, or made me feel like less for wanting to pursue a career. He loves me, all of me, and I love him.”

“Three days, Jemma. Bellamy came up with that just since our last conversation. What else will he find? This young man isn’t the sort of person you need to be associated with. I am your mother and I only want what’s best for you. I had a bad feeling about him from the very start, and it concerns me that you are so blinded by your feelings that you cannot see it.” Vivian drew in a slow, deep breath and paused to pour her tea before she looked back at Jemma. 

She loved her daughter. All three of her daughters, and her husband, despite their faults, but she also was no fool. Just as she’d done with Elliott’s accident, Vivian would take the appropriate steps to ensure that the family name stayed intact. The Simmons family had always been wealthy, but it hadn’t been until she’d married Elliott that they’d clawed their way up into the ranks of society’s elite, just outside the circles of the royals and Vivian was damned if she’d lose that vaunted position without a fight. 

“You love him you say, and he loves you, and yet he’s left the country for an indeterminate amount of time. To build experimental airplanes, of all the useless things.” Vivian sighed and shook her head, “I hesitate to delve so far into your privacy, but I think in this case, it’s warranted. Have you had sex with him, Jemma? What proof do you have that anything he says is true? Or that he’s not involving himself with someone else in Germany? And don’t you dare bring up your father again to divert me, young lady. Because unlike your blind faith in your friend Fitz, I was well aware of your father’s activities.” 

Vivian sipped at her tea, watching the emotions cross her daughter’s face. Jemma had never been a good liar, and absolutely terrible at hiding her feelings and that was very much in evidence now. A part of her regretted having to do this, to be so heartless when her child truly believed she was in love, but it would be best in the long run if Vivian arranged for this to end now. When Jemma still didn’t seem ready to speak, her lips working soundlessly, Vivian softened somewhat. 

“It’s okay, Jemma. I understand. I know this must be difficult for you to hear. But I really and truly think it would be best for you to end this association. As soon as possible even. It shouldn’t be complicated, given he’s not even in the country right now.” Vivian’s darker eyes met Jemma’s hazel ones, and she took a calculated risk. “I’m afraid to say that if you don’t, it may be best for you to dissociate yourself from the family for a while. After everything with your father, I don’t want even a hint of a scandal like this to bleed over onto your sisters. Or for your friend to catch wind of what happened and take advantage of it.” 

Her mother’s words bounced around her brain, driving her anger higher than Jemma had even thought possible. It had been bad enough that she’d suggested Fitz could be so underhanded as to be sleeping with someone while he was away, Fitz who didn’t have an iota of guile in his being, but the repeated declaration that she suspected him of taking advantage of her was too much to bear. 

“Boyfriend, Mother. Or beau, suitor, partner, lover, those are words for Fitz, not ‘friend.’ He’s so much more than that for me. And now, clearly, he’s the only family I have.” Jemma finished stepping away from the table, a sense of calm overcoming her that frightened her a bit, and she pushed her chair back into place with shaking hands. Clenching her fingers around the backrest in a vain attempt to keep her mother from seeing her emotional state, she leveled her gaze at the older woman. 

“Fitz would cut off his own hand before he hurt me. He’d never cheat.” Jemma did her best to keep her words firm, but a bit of her uncertainty shone through. Despite knowing she had no reason to doubt Fitz or his affection, Vivian wielded her words with the precision of any surgeon’s scalpel; she knew Jemma’s weaknesses, particularly after what had happened with William, and had aimed for them without hesitation. 

She paused long enough to swallow the lump in her throat and put up at least a mask of indifference before speaking again. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I think it’s time I returned to London.” The words were out in a rush, and Jemma turned on her heel and made a beeline for the stair, wanting nothing more than to throw all of her belongings into her bag and flee for the safety of the city. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Jemma. I do hope you understand,” Vivian said, following Jemma out and stopping in the doorway to watch her go upstairs. “I’ll ask Brian to bring your car around for you.” She’d known it was a possibility, but she hadn’t truly expected Jemma to choose Fitz over her family. Having called Jemma’s bluff though, she couldn’t now go back on her words and beg Jemma to stay. Not that Vivian would ever actually beg, but she was a strong woman and she would follow through on what she thought was right, ever selfish and certain of her own decisions. 

And so when Jemma came back downstairs, Vivian was still waiting, this time near the front door, where their driver was just pulling up with Jemma’s rented car. “I’ll expect you to be out of the flat by New Years’. Addy’s chosen to attend college in London and it would be quite convenient for her to be there in Bayswater.” 

Jemma paused just long enough to meet her mother’s eyes, and set her teeth in her lip to hold back any protest. Vivian knew damn well that she couldn’t afford to live in Bayswater on her own, and that with her job it would be difficult to find the time or energy to hunt for a new place to live. She recognized it as her mother’s final play, and Jemma steadfastly refused to give in. “Fine. I’ll be out by then. Addy can pick up the keys on January 1st. She and I can work out the details.”

With that, Jemma was out the door and into the rented sedan without as much as a backward glance. 

She had hoped that driving would force her to divert her attention to more useful pursuits, but the fact of the matter was that her mother’s words kept echoing in the back of her mind. The worst part of it all was that she knew the accusations were baseless, the fears they inspired entirely unfounded, but the longer she drove, the larger they grew. Just as she was about ready to scream from frustration, Jemma spotted it. The road sign along the M4 that signaled the turn off for Heathrow. 

Without stopping to think twice, Jemma steered the car in that direction, a plan slowly forming as she crept nearer to the airport. She had her bag packed already, and she could afford the price of a ticket to Munich. There was also a rather fetching dress she thought Fitz might like to see her in, and the appropriate underthings, neatly tucked away. And, with two more days off, there was really no reason for her to stay here in London; it wasn’t as if she would be called in to work. 

It would be a nice surprise, she told herself as she headed toward long-term parking, for them to see each other after so much time apart. It would also go a long way to ease the anxieties her mother had so effortlessly created within her, to be able to see and touch and kiss Fitz again. It was one thing to know, logically, that he loved her, and another to feel it, to bask in it and him. That was what she wanted more than anything, and Jemma was determined to get it. 

~*~

Weeks ago, Fitz had scoffed at Jemma when she insisted he take some of his bonus money and buy a few good suits to take with him to Germany, and he’d come to bless her foresight. Some of the executives with the aerospace company would never have taken him seriously if he’d come in wearing his usual scruffy college kid clothes. Even with the suits, a number of them looked at Fitz and saw someone too young and inexperienced to be able to tell them what was wrong with their plane’s intended design. 

The meeting had run all afternoon and Fitz had left with a laundry list of things related to his own design he needed to work out, and their engineers had modifications to make to the planes. It had been hours of bickering and negotiation and playing politics - all things Fitz hated. Sliding up onto his stool at his drafting table, he sighed softly as the first bit of tension dropped from his shoulders. This was where be needed to be - at this table, working on the problem. 

Hours later, Fitz’ discarded jacket was slung over the back of the chair, his tie and top button tugged loose, sleeves rolled up. He was tipped over the desk, the fingers of one hand tangled in his disheveled curls as he propped his head on his elbow, the other hand restlessly tapping a pencil against the sheets of vellum. There was something here - he knew it. He just couldn’t find it. And that, more than anything, frustrated him. 

He was about ready to give up for the night when the clang of the door slamming shut sounded out behind him. 

Jemma watched the black car pull away from the squat building that she assumed served as the headquarters for the aerospace company that had spirited Fitz away from her, and took a deep breath. Suddenly this all seemed very rash, her getting on a plane and coming here on a spur-of-the-moment lark, but she was determined to follow through. After all, she hadn’t crammed herself into a stall at the airport to change into a rather scandalous pair of knickers and matching bra and slipped into a low-cut dress for nothing. 

She forced her legs to move her forward, making her way inside the tiny office. Finding his drafting space was easier than she’d thought; it was merely a matter of following the signs. She paused, smiling as she admired his name plate, recalling the way she had done the same thing months earlier back in London. How far he’d come, from a shared lab at King’s College to his own office space here! Pride took root in Jemma’s chest, and her apprehension was chased away by her eagerness to see him. 

As quietly as she could, Jemma set down her bag, and after neatly laying her jacket across it, opened the door and slipped into his office. The sight of Fitz, sleeves rolled, broad back hunched over his work, sent a thrill through her, and she took a moment to admire him before executing the final stage of her plan. When she was ready, she moved to close the door, hoping to be quiet; however, and the heavy steel contraption got away from her, clanging against its frame. 

Fitz looked up and turned in his seat, those beautiful blue eyes she’d missed terribly going wide in surprise as he realized she was here. Before she could lose her nerve, her eyes locked on his, Jemma reached for the edge of her crimson dress. Taking one last, deep breath, she tugged the silky material up her body and over her head, before allowing it to pool on the floor next to her. 

It took a heartbeat or four for Fitz to realize that Jemma was really there and not just a figment of his imagination. Especially since he hadn’t heard from her all day. Which was odd enough, but he’d been so busy that even if she’d texted him, he’d likely not have seen it or had time to answer. 

Regardless, his face lit up at the sight of her and he was halfway off the stool when Jemma drew her dress up, slowly undressing herself and exposing her to his gaze. Fitz hadn’t ever gotten to see her like this; not in person, anyway, and it left him silent and staring, his jaw loose and eyes bright as he avidly watched Jemma’s every move. All he could think was how bloody lucky he was, and how gorgeous she looked in the crimson lingerie that clung to her curves, and the dark stockings limning her legs with silk. 

She moved forward, and Fitz instinctively opened his arms to her, tugging her close, but the kiss Jemma gave him was hot and hungry, unlike any of the previous kisses they’d shared. Including the one that had gotten out of hand on the couch when they’d been on vacation. There was something dark and desperate about the way she nearly attacked him, and Fitz fell into that overload of sensation, his hands stroking her back and clutching her closer. 

It wasn’t until her fingers dove toward his belt buckle and zip, opening them in seconds, that Fitz realized this had all gone too far. Jemma seemed bound and determined to have sex, here and now, insistent and demanding his attention, but he couldn’t let this go further. “Jemma. Jem… God, please tell me y’ brought condoms with y’,” he said between kisses as Jemma followed his withdrawal. 

For the first time all day, Jemma didn’t feel ridiculous. Being home in Devon, she’d felt like a child, with the way her mother had spoken to her and had so easily reduced her relationship with Fitz to nothing more than a socially convenient arrangement for him. She’d felt foolish for storming out of her family home, and for impulsively boarding a plane at Heathrow early that afternoon. Not to mention the looks she’d received in the bathroom at Munich International when she’d come out of a stall dressed to the nines and had proceeded to finish her hair and makeup in the shared mirror. 

But now, with Fitz’ broad, warm palms pressed against her, fingers seeking and finding all kinds of sensitive places as they clung together in the late-night quiet of his office, all of those insecurities drifted away. She could feel him, hard against her hip, and grinned at the breathless whimpers that fell from his lips. She wanted him, needed him, now more than ever, and nearly tripped in her rush to pull him back toward his drafting table, effectively pinning herself between him and the hard edge of the desk. 

Jemma nipped at his lower lip, chuckling a bit as she processed his question. “We don’t need condoms,” she exhaled quickly, kissing him again and purposely slipping her hand in past the opening of his boxers to close around his cock. She loved the feel of him beneath her fingers, hard, hot, and wanting against her palm, and a surge of pride welled in her at the way he shuddered a bit and tucked his face against her neck. “I’ve been on birth control for ages,” Jemma whispered into his curls. “And…” she struggled a bit with her next words, torn between wanting to tell him what she was thinking and not wanting to sound like a total slag. “I want to feel you, Fitz, all of you.”

“No… Jemma,” Fitz groaned when she curled her fingers around him, catching at her wrist and tugging gently. As much as he wanted her, more certain now that they’d had these weeks of teasing and flirting at a distance, and as easily as he was revved up having gone without for so long, this wasn’t the time or the place. It would be so, so easy to dive in, to let himself go and fall into the heat that she’d so easily generated between them, but Fitz couldn’t do it. 

The risk might be minimal, but he wouldn’t do that to her. Even though her quiet words sent a bolt of lust through him - it still didn’t override Fitz’ concerns. “No, I know, I jus’...” he started, hesitating, hoping she didn’t end up pissed at him. “I’m no’ safe, baby girl. We need t’ use condoms.” Fitz drew back to see Jemma’s face, but what he got might have been even worse than having Jemma brassed off at him.


	37. Chapter 37

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d just hit her in the face. Jemma’s expression was frozen with hurt, eyes wide and instantly glossed. “I’m sorry, Jem… I didna mean… I’d have told y’, but I didna think it’d be an issue until I got back…” His arms tightened around her, but she jerked backward, and he let her go, unsure. 

Fitz’ words broke over her like ice water, cooling her lust and freezing her in her tracks. For a moment, Jemma felt as though she were having an out of body experience; it couldn’t be her this was happening to, all of the fears her mother had stirred up coming to be realized. 

Tears brimming her lower lashes, Jemma looked away, unwilling to let Fitz see her cry at the moment, and slowly took her hand from him. The fingers he’d wrapped around her wrist felt too tight, nearly vice-like and uncomfortable against her skin, and she shook her arm in a bid to get him to release her. Her hands found his stomach and she gave a small push, feeling suddenly claustrophobic being trapped between him and the too-sharp edge of his work space. 

Fitz moved easily, and if she’d been more cognizant, Jemma would have realized just how she was hurting him. As it was, all she could do was sum up what little dignity she could muster and tottered on her heels over to where she’d allowed her dress to drop. So much for not feeling foolish. So much for her mother’s assertions being baseless. Stooping to catch the slick material with her fingertips, Jemma kept her back to Fitz as she dressed, not wanting him to see as the first tears broke and rolled down her cheeks. 

There were a lot of times when Fitz was clueless. And while he knew he didn’t entirely understand what just happened, he wasn’t as clueless about Jemma anymore. Her stiff, graceless movements gave her away even without knowing the tears he’d seen before had spilled over. Fitz had only let her go because he didn’t want her to feel trapped, but he wasn’t going to just let her go, either. Sidling around her, Fitz put himself between Jemma and the door. 

“Jemma… what’s wrong? What did I do?” Confused, dismayed, and bordering on panicked, Fitz searched her face, trying to understand. Her silence hurt, further disconcerting him. “I canna… Look, it happened one time, okay? I wasna careful and it hasna been long enough for the tests t’ be sure I’m okay. Another few weeks an’ it willna be an issue. I was goin’ t’ get tested again before I got home.” 

Unwilling to look at him lest she break down completely, Jemma squeezed her eyes shut and quickly swiped under her eyes in a vain attempt to clear the tears that were already there. “I… I need to find a way…” Her words were shaky, shaming her further. For once, Jemma wished she had her mother’s ability to portray absolute indifference whenever she willed it. It would have been a useful trick now, when Fitz was before her, looking forlorn and babbling excuses. 

No matter which way it was cut for Jemma, that’s all they sounded like: excuses. He wasn’t safe. That meant there had been someone else, since they had never done anything that would put Fitz at risk for any infection. There was a part of her that wanted to demand the details, wanted to make him come clean about it all, but she couldn’t. At the end of the day, Jemma wasn’t Vivian, and instead of a steely resolve to impose her will, all she felt was numb. 

“This was… foolish. I was foolish. And I sent the car away. I need to find a way back to Munich. Excuse me.” Her words were quiet, barely audible in the quiet between them, and she tried to slip past Fitz, taking care not to brush up against him any more than was absolutely necessary as she made to gather up her belongings. 

If he’d only been partly panicked before, Jemma’s soft words pushed Fitz over the line. “Jemma, no. Wait,” he said quickly, backing against the door. There was only the one way in or out of the interior workshop, and he’d just blocked her from using it. “Please… I don’t understand what I’ve done that’s got y’ this upset. Jem - I’m so bloody happy t’ see y’, but you’re confusin’ the hell out of me right now.” 

Fitz desperately wished he could promise her they’d fix it, but he was completely blindsided. He hadn’t even known she was coming here, Jemma shows up in his office and strips down - Fitz had a brief moment of gratitude that there were no cameras in this space, unlike the main work areas - plastered herself against him, almost desperate in her ardor, and then reeled away at a single comment, talking about leaving again. 

He sucked in a deep breath, logic pushing through the adrenaline in his system. This wasn’t about him. It couldn’t be. At least, not entirely. And so he tried again. Scrambling to find something - anything - that would make the situation better, he held his hands out to her entreatingly. “Look. Come home with me. Please? We can sit down an’ talk through whatever this is. When’s your return ticket home? I know is no’ tonight. If y’ still want t’ go home in the mornin’, I’ll drive y’ back t’ Munich myself, but please… Y’ canna go without givin’ me a chance t’ fix this.” 

The easy way it fell from his lips that he was happy to see her, tore at Jemma. How could he- how was it possible that he was happy to see her after he’d admitted that there was someone else in the picture? That because of it he might have put himself at risk of God knew what? She wasn’t sure what hurt her more, the idea that Fitz, of all people, had cheated on her, or that he had been so careless as to do something that might put them both at risk, after all the times she’d told him… 

Jemma wanted nothing more than to storm out, to run back to London so she could hide in bed and pretend this was nothing more than a bad dream. That the man she loved more than anything, the man she’d effectively renounced her family for, hadn’t just confirmed her worst fears. But the way his voice dropped, and his outstretched hand, wouldn’t allow her to run, any more than his person blocking the doorway would. 

“All right,” she ground out, sorrow at what had happened warring with her anger with him for shattering the illusion of a happy relationship. “If you want, Fitz, I’ll go home with you. We can try talking it out.” Jemma didn’t think much would come of it, but she supposed she at least owed him that much. Herself as well, if some kind of closure could come from it. 

A little relieved, although he instinctively knew this was far from resolved, Fitz led Jemma out to the employee lot and over to the BMW they’d rented for him. The drive back to his flat had to be the longest ten minutes of his life, zipping through back roads at breakneck speed as Jemma sat silently next to him. Every time he glanced over, her eyes were focused on some distant point out her window, studiously avoiding him, and it tore at Fitz’ heart. 

Now that he was better able to examine his own feelings, Fitz recognized the knot in his chest as fear. Fear of Jemma leaving him, fear of losing her friendship, her love, her acceptance… This was bringing up memories of dealing with his father, knowing he’d done something wrong but never being able to resolve it or avoid bringing pain down on his head. Suddenly feeling defensive, Fitz slowed as they came into town, and he maneuvered through the narrow streets to his rented flat. 

“This way,” he murmured as Jemma got out of the car, automatically reaching into the backseat for her bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “The entrance is aroun’ the back.” 

Once he’d ushered her inside though, his small flat felt crowded and uncomfortable, and Fitz hovered awkwardly after dropping her bag on the bed. “I feel like I should be apologizin’, but it’s kinda hard t’ do that when I dinna know what I’m apologizin’ for.” 

Jemma entered the tiny flat with uncertain steps, trying and failing to get her bearings. It was so… sterile. There was none of the warmth of Fitz’ flat back in Highgate, none of the feeling of the man she’d fallen in love with. It was a different space for a different man, and it put her even more on guard than she’d been on the ride over. 

His tone held a sharper edge, and provoked her own anger into being. How could he act like the wounded party, with what he’d just admitted to her? And after he’d been so supportive with what had happened with William? Fitz knew how that had hurt her, and for him to turn around and do the same… Jemma felt like she wasn’t even looking at that same man. 

She moved to put the kitchen table between them, not trusting herself to be too near to him at the moment, her eyes skimming over the bed and sofa. She had a brief flash of Fitz, tangled up with some nameless, faceless man, snogging there and felt her stomach heave in retaliation. A bolt of fearful certainty shot through her that this was where it would all end, before it even really had a chance to begin, and her spirit sank. 

Bracing her hands on the wooden table top, Jemma forced herself to look at him, to meet Fitz’ eyes as she asked the question she most wanted, and feared, having answered. “Who was it, Fitz? Would you at least have the decency to tell me who it was you slept with while you were here? Who…” She wanted to finish the query, to ask who was worth throwing them away, but couldn’t force herself to speak anymore as her emotions overwhelmed her. 

Fitz watched her survey his space, knowing it was nothing impressive, plain and unadorned. He hadn’t bothered doing much with it, knowing he was only going to be there for a couple of months, but now he saw it as she must - more like a hotel room. Impersonal and cold. It was better than his office, but not by much. The privacy was the important thing to him right now. 

It scared him, that he couldn’t read her, that his Jemma - his stomach twisted uncomfortably at that, hoping she was still his - was so implacable and cold. And yet when she finally looked at him, the sudden heat in her gaze and tone were almost enough to burn. Certainly he felt the flash of pain as her words impacted his consciousness. 

“What the hell are you on about?” he blurted, in total shock. 

His denial was the final permission that she needed, and Jemma felt her body flush with anger. “What am I on about?” she asked, tone cutting. “What are you on about, Fitz? You just told me you’re not safe! You never mentioned it when you came home, so, logically speaking, that means it happened while you were here!”

Jemma straightened, her arms crossing just beneath her breasts as she stared him down. She could feel the bile burning the back of her throat at the thought that he’d have come home, whispered sweet nothings to her, touched her, had allowed her to put her hands on him, and then had come back to Germany to fool around… she huffed out a sharp breath and dropped her gaze. “My mother was right, it seems. I told her you’d never, that, that you were the only family I really had, and now-” 

Jemma shook her head, fighting every instinct that was telling her to grab her things from him and flee. “I was a fool. I shouldn’t have gotten on that plane, I should have just stayed home, and then I wouldn’t know, could have gone on happily thinking you loved me-”

“I do love you! Chris’, Jemma. Are y’ even hearing yourself?” Fitz wheeled away from her, fingers digging in sharply on either side of his nose as he pushed against the sudden headache that appeared behind his eyes. “Let me remind y’ that when I came home, we were makin’ out on your bed, an’ I told y’ we needed t’ stop. Y’ didn’t question it - that’s when y’ tugged me into the bath - but if y’ had, I’d have told y’ then I wasna safe. I havena bloody fuckin’ touched anyone but y’ since September.” 

His voice went hard, bitterly regretting that moment now, when he’d held on to it being a stupid mistake he could simply move past, “I went down on someone without a condom. I was drunk an’ it happened, and is probably nothin’, but is bad enough tha’ I risked myself. I’m no’ goin’ to expose y’ t’ anything, an’ the tests are no’ entirely conclusive until three months from exposure. Another couple of weeks an’ I’ll be cleared. Since I was no’ expectin’ t’ see y’ again until after tha’, I didna say anything.” 

“And why am I no’ surprised that Vivian had somethin’ t’ do with this?” Fitz turned back to Jemma, more and more angry with each moment that passed by, as the real reason for all this sank in. “She told y’ I was cheatin’ on y’, didn’t she?”

Fitz’ explanation was well reasoned, and rang true, but Jemma couldn’t let go of her anger, try as she might. She knew, logically, that she had more reason to trust Fitz than her mother. In the 12 months that she’d known him, he’d never hidden anything from her, not his dating habits or his family history, whereas her mother… Vivian Simmons had a history of manipulating things to her advantage, and Jemma at the moment felt her shame growing as she realized exactly what her mother had done to her. 

Jemma chewed on her lower lip and watched Fitz, weighing just how much she should tell him. Eventually, she gave in to the little voice that reminded her that of all the people in her life, Fitz was the one most worthy of her trust, and went for broke. 

“A week ago, she and I had a fight. She realized I’d gone alone to the hospital’s fundraiser and wrongly assumed you and I were no longer seeing each other. I corrected her, but…” Jemma sighed, knowing he would hate what she had to say next. “She and I fought again about it this morning, and yes, she heavily implied that it was likely you were cheating on me.”

Blue eyes swung back to Jemma. Fitz couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever been this angry at anyone, much less Jemma. “And y’ believed her? Why?” 

Fitz felt like he was disconnected from his own body, strung out and only vaguely aware of what his body was doing, he was so upset. “What have I done that y’ would ever believe somethin’ like that?! From Vivian, of all people? Your parents have hated me from day one!” He paced the length of the small studio, past the couch and over to the bed and back, all nervous energy and emotion, frustration and resignation. “Do I even want t’ know how fightin’ with her ended up with y’ comin’ here and showin’ up in my workshop? What the hell were y’ tryin’ t’ prove? That I still want y’?” 

Jemma’s mouth opened like she was going to say something and Fitz waved her off with a sharp gesture. “Don’t. Dinna even try t’ say anythin’ right now. I’m too damned angry t’ hear it, even if it makes sense.” He drew in another deep breath, but the knot in his chest only drew tighter, feeling like he was less able to breathe. “Take the bed, and text me if y’ need me. I’m going t’ sleep down in the car… I think we both need the space right now.” 

Feeling punched in the gut, it was all Jemma could do to watch Fitz as he spun on a heel and shot out the door. All of the breathable air must have followed him, because as soon as the latch clicked shut, Jemma found herself struggling to make her lungs work. She had just accused Fitz, of all people, of cheating on her, because her fight with her mother had led her to believe it was even remotely plausible. Fitz, the truest friend she’d ever had, and easily the best man she’d ever known. 

And now, he thought she’d only tried to sleep with him to prove a point. 

Which, Jemma had to admit as she stripped off her fine dress and lingerie, might have been the case. She had gone to the airport an emotional wreck, unable to reason clearly. All she had wanted was Fitz, and for him to burn the memory of her fight with her mother out of her brain. What she was left with… she didn’t want to ruminate on that too intently. The fact of the matter was, she had likely just ruined what little chance she and Fitz had, and all because she hadn’t been able to keep her emotions in check. 

Jemma dug into her bag for her pajamas, and finding them quickly threw them on before crawling under the covers of the bed. It was only once she was there, safely ensconced in Fitz-scented sheets that she permitted herself to cry, her tears falling hot and thick to land on the cotton pillowcase beneath her cheek.

Fitz spent the next while pacing outside the house, striding off the anger and the excess energy his emotional upheaval caused until he could finally collapse into the passenger seat of the BMW, exhausted, feeling hollow and frozen. The cold had soaked into his bones along with the upset. He knew quite well that Vivian was manipulative - and that she knew every possible button and soft spot Jemma had, plus how to use them to her advantage. The fact that she had used them wasn’t a surprise, but Jemma’s willingness to believe her mother’s twisted words rather than trusting in him… in them… That stung. 

Worse, it had opened up a fault between them that Fitz was going to have to find a way to bridge. She meant too much for him to just let her go, especially with so much hanging in the balance. He didn’t want to go back to that lonely existence before they’d so randomly found each other. He laid the seat back, huddled under his coat like a blanket, but eventually Fitz realized he needed to go back inside. Not just because it was too bloody cold to be out here, but he hated that he’d left Jemma alone. Even if they weren’t speaking to each other, he should be there. 

And so he crept back up the stairs and took his shoes off at the door, trying to be as quiet as he could and not disturb her. Hopefully, at least one of them would get some sleep tonight. 

Once she had cried herself out, Jemma had curled up and tried to fall asleep, but couldn’t. Not here, in Fitz’ bed, with little reminders of him all around her, and certainly not with the realization that she’d been so terribly wrong in what she had accused him of. From her position on the bed, she surveyed the flat once more, taking in the reality of it all. Fitz was here, in a strange country where he didn’t speak a lick of the language, all alone. There was none of him here because he wasn’t here, not really, or at least, not mentally. Mentally, she knew, home for Fitz was back in London, with her. Well, hopefully still with her, if she could ever make it right.

Jemma was chewing over the ways she could go about fixing it, and debating whether or not she shouldn’t put on her own jacket and go out to find him, when she heard the door scrape open against its frame. Sitting up in bed, she could just make out the dark figure of her boyfriend as he crept into his own apartment. 

“Fitz,” she called, her voice no louder than a whisper, but carrying easily in the small space. “I-” But that was all she could get out. In truth, Jemma had no idea what she could say to make it right, or if that was even a possibility. Her tongue felt like lead, and instead of trying to speak further, she simply looked down, shamefaced. 

His eyes were on her still form as he crept in, trying to be quiet, but Fitz saw Jemma move immediately and knew she hadn’t been sleeping any more than he had, down in the car. Drawing in a deep breath, Fitz shucked off his coat and went to the closet to fetch an extra blanket, feeling her eyes on him the whole time, and it wasn’t until he turned back that he heard Jemma’s soft words. 

Fitz’ voice wasn’t nearly as soft. “I told y’ - don’t. Just don’t. Don’t make excuses. There’s no point when the damage is already done.” Shivering, both from cold and from reaction, he curled up on the couch and pulled the blanket up close under his chin. 

And if, after a while, he caught himself covertly swiping away tears and muffling a sniffle or two, well, that was likely only his business now, wasn’t it?

Jemma sank back down into the covers at his sharp rebuke, hoping that the soft down comforter and pillows would provide some kind of comfort. She quickly realized that was futile, and found herself staring at the ceiling as she tried to come up with something, anything, she could say to him that might begin to heal the rift she’d torn between them.

She was debating the merits of outright begging when she heard the distinct sound of sniffling coming from the sofa. Propping herself on an elbow, Jemma looked toward the only bit of Fitz she could see, the sandy mop of curls peeking out from beneath the dark blanket. Her heart found its way into her throat when she realized that she hadn’t been imagining it, that Fitz was still awake, and just as distraught as she was. With a soft rustling of blankets, Jemma’s feet hit the bare floor, ready to push her off the mattress and over to him, when Fitz abruptly changed positions, sitting up on the edge of the sofa. 

They both held there for what felt like an eternity, eyes locked on each other, Fitz looking beyond hurt and Jemma desperately trying to find a way to apologize, before he levered himself off the low-slung sofa and quietly padded into the kitchen area. She watched as he put on the kettle and pulled down two mugs, and that little domestic gesture gave Jemma the little glimmer of hope she needed. Tugging the comforter along with her, she ventured over to the sofa, and tucked herself into the corner farthest from where Fitz had left his rumpled blanket, watching and waiting for him to break the silence. 

Fitz took his time with the kettle and the mugs, doctoring them both properly, even though his heart ached in his chest at the reminder of just how well he knew her. He only had black tea here, which Jemma took with a splash of milk and bit of sugar. Unlike green tea, which she liked extra strong and sweet, or herbals, which didn’t get anything at all, except occasionally honey. Even he couldn’t stretch the task out indefinitely though, and the kettle would take some time to boil. 

Turning to lean back against the counter, Fitz eyed the back of Jemma’s head, what little he could see of it peeking up over the back of the couch. “I want the real story. The whole thing, I mean. Y’ already fucked up, so y’ have nothin’ else t’ lose. I think I deserve that much, bein’ accused of cheatin’ by the only person I’ve cared about in years.” He hesitated, some of the hurt leaking through his anger at her as a few more tears leaked from his reddened eyes. “I never… I thought we were past things like this. That y’ knew… Fuck, this feels even worse than it used to with Da.” 

He bit his lip sharply, not having meant for that last bit to slip out, turning quickly to check the kettle before he gave away anything else. 

His flat tone, more than his words, cut Jemma to the quick, and she found herself squeezing her eyes shut as she attempted to burrow into the cushions of the sofa. she felt impossibly small as it was, but hearing him say what she already knew to be true, that she was the only one he had cared about in years, and that she had hurt him with her accusations, not to mention comparing it to his relationship with his father, did her in. 

Despite wanting to disappear through the floor, Jemma couldn’t deny him, and after taking a deep breath, and nodding, said, “All right. You deserve to hear it all. But could you at least come sit with me first?”

Surprised by Jemma’s quick acceptance, Fitz glanced back over his shoulder to find she had disappeared down onto the couch where he couldn’t see her. “Fine. Give me a minute to finish the tea, then.” 

Thankfully the kettle was hot enough by then he could make the tea without waiting for it to actually boil. Fitz glanced back again, just before he poured the water over the tea bags, to find Jemma had reappeared, looking small and shy as she peered at him over the back of the couch. She suddenly seemed like his Jemma again, instead of this virtual stranger who’d showed up in his workshop, and it somehow made the hurt worse. 

Once the mugs were ready, Fitz carried them over to the couch and handed Jemma’s down before curling up at the far end of the cushions, facing her with his legs laid between them. It wasn’t until he’d fully settled, pulling his blanket over his lap to ward off the chill, that Fitz finally nodded slowly. “Alright. I’m here. Tell me.”

Jemma hadn’t realized just how difficult it would be to speak with him facing her; she’d only been thinking that the distance between she and Fitz was unbearable, and had wanted to close it at all costs. Now, having to look him square in the eye and admit to just how and why she’d become twisted about… but, she had asked him to come sit with her, and he had. Hoping she wasn’t being overly optimistic in taking that as a good sign, Jemma forced her tongue into action. 

“It started about a week ago, after the hospital’s fundraiser…”

Pressing herself into the back of his sofa, seeking any kind of comfort she could find, Jemma told him all of it. She told him about the initial fight she’d had with her mother on the phone, and how Vivian had had him investigated, of all things. She told him, in full, vivid detail, about the fight they had that morning, how her mother had tried to surprise her with the sordid details of Fitz’ past, and how Jemma had countered by saying that Fitz had told her all of that already, of his own volition. But then, her mother had inquired as to their sex life, and, unable to answer in a way that wouldn’t incriminate them in her mother’s eyes, had fled the house instead. 

“And, so,” Jemma continued, staring into the bottom of her mug, “when I saw the first turn off sign for Heathrow, I just… went. I wanted to see you, first and foremost, but I suppose a part of me wanted to prove my mother wrong. Wanted to be able to tell her that we’d made love and use it to prove to her that you were true, in every way imaginable.” She picked at an imaginary bit of lint on her knee and muttered, “I know it was stupid. She’d find anything she could to criticize, and saying we’d slept together wouldn’t have put an end to it.”

Jemma paused, sipping at her tea, wanting to put off what she knew would be the most difficult bit of all of this. “When you held me off saying we needed condoms, I…” she flushed, ashamed of herself, “I assumed that you weren’t safe because of something that had happened here, not before. And all the little insecurities she had picked at came rushing in all at once, that because I’m a woman, I won’t be enough for you and that you need male partners more than me, and-” 

Jemma cut herself off, recognizing that she was only working herself up again. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I was being stupid, and unfair to you. If you told me you never wanted to speak to me again, it’d be warranted. I’m sorry, for that, that I broke your trust that way.”

Fitz bit his tongue and gritted his teeth at several points in Jemma’s tale, and he still had the suspicion that she was leaving something out. She’d hesitated once or twice, but he didn’t call her out for it. Even what she was telling him was hurtful enough. Elliott and Vivian Simmons had never liked him, but he’d never dreamed Vivian would go so far as to hire an investigator. 

It was such an invasion of his privacy that Fitz felt the anger simmering in him again, but in the end, there was nothing that the Simmons’ PI could turn up that he wasn’t willing to tell Jemma, or hadn’t already told her. Being arrested had been the worst of it, and even then there’d never been charges pressed, he’d only been picked up and then released back to his parents, although he was sure Vivian Simmons had made it sound like he was a juvenile delinquent. 

He was far more upset that Jemma had allowed Vivian to shake the most basic foundation of their relationship - their trust in each other. “Y’ assumed a lot, tonight, lass.” Fitz sipped at his tea, cradling the mug in both hands and half-hiding his face behind it, even though he knew she could read him like a book. “Showin’ up at my work and pullin’ that stunt - you’re lucky there aren’t cameras in my workshop. There are, most everywhere else. Plannin’ on seducin’ me, but no’ bringing condoms. Assumin’ we didna need them when I asked if y’ had them. Figurin’ I would just let y’ leave after somethin’ like that happenin’.” 

His breath shuddered in and out of his lungs as he struggled not to let any of his tangled emotions bubble over again, closing his eyes against the sting of tears. “I dinna want -” Fitz choked on the words and swallowed down the lump that had formed. “I know I’m no’ perfect. Chris’ I’m so far from it I dinna even know why the hell y’ want t’ be with me some days. I want t’ make this work though. We’ve barely even started… we can’t be over yet.” 

It was a struggle, but somehow Jemma managed not to flinch with each new point Fitz made, although her blush grew with each admonishment. He was absolutely right; even if she had been trying to seduce him for the right reason- that being, loving each other and wanting to share it- her attempting to take such a step in his office, of all places, was outright reckless. 

Jemma felt the tears begin to well up again, and was ready to beg his forgiveness, when Fitz pressed on, his words taking her breath away. He didn’t want to leave her. He still wanted her, still wanted them, even though she would have understood if he had decided that their breaking up would be for the best. She forced her eyes to meet his, and the hope she saw shining behind the hurt and uncertainty had her moving before Jemma realized what, exactly, she was doing. 

She set her mug on the coffee table and leaned forward toward him, shifting her weight to her knees so she could reach out to him, but when Jemma realized that Fitz hadn’t moved at all, she paused. Given his history, and his comparing her to his father (something that would always wound her), it was entirely possible that he didn’t want any touch at the moment, even if he had confessed that he still wanted her. 

“Fitz,” she gasped out, voice thick with emotion, “I want us, too. Neither of us are perfect. We both made mistakes. We both should have been clearer with each other, but… I want to keep trying, too. We… we’re worth fighting for. You’re worth fighting for. I love you, and I’m sorry.” 

When Jemma started moving, Fitz relaxed a bit, expecting her to fling herself at him the way she usually did, but something stopped her. She hesitated and his shoulders went tight again, unsure, and he reached to set his tea aside and free his hands. He didn’t know what else he could say to convince her, what to do to set this right. If anything, he wanted to reach out to her, but Fitz couldn’t make his frozen limbs cooperate with that particular command. 

She spoke up then, her voice hesitant and breaking but growing stronger the longer she went on, and Fitz slowly reached for her, the callused pads of his fingertips brushing Jemma’s cheek. “We need t’ talk about a lot of things, I think,” he said softly. “But… I think they can wait until tomorrow. Today… whatever. Until we’ve gotten some sleep at least, an’ can think properly.” 

It was his turn to hesitate this time, as he slowly lifted his other arm and held it out to Jemma. “C’mere?”

With that invitation, Jemma practically threw herself into his arms, her own coming up to wrap around Fitz’ neck. She pressed them as closely together as she could, shamelessly clinging to her boyfriend as she allowed all of her pent up emotions to finally find an outlet. With a quiet moan, she nuzzled against his cheek, soaking up his warm, familiar scent. Everything about him, the strength of his arms holding her, the feeling of his nose and cheek brushing against her jaw as he himself nuzzled closer, the way his skin gave beneath her lips and she pressed kisses where she could, soothed her. 

“Come to bed?” Jemma’s lips brushed against his cheek and her words were pleading, but her voice was strong. “I’d like to hold you for a while. Please?”

“Shh, is okay. We’re okay,” Fitz murmured under his breath as Jemma clung to him, winding herself around him like she had no plans of letting go until she had to go back to Munich, whenever that was going to be. Content just to hold her, he wrapped both arms around Jemma’s back and tried to convince his stressed body to relax. 

Just as he was getting ready to suggest they rearrange the blankets to get comfortable, Jemma asked about the bed, and even though his first instinct was to resist, there was really no reason to. Fitz had made his point, Jemma had apologized… And while there was still plenty to work out, for this moment, things should be okay. And really, Fitz needed to sleep, at least a little. He could probably get away with taking tomorrow off to spend with Jemma, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if he was yawning through it. 

“Alright, lass,” he finally agreed. “Bring your blanket. I’ve got this one,” he said, motioning to the spare blanket he was using and the comforter that was usually on his bed. “As y’ probably noticed, the heat is crap in here, so we’ll need them.”

Moving carefully, not wanting to knock her knees against his, Jemma disentangled herself from Fitz. With a fond, yet slightly shy, smile, Jemma stretched out a hand to him, lacing their fingers together as they gathered up the blankets and crawled into bed. Fitz, ever the gentleman, allowed Jemma to crawl in first, and she quickly settled onto her back and held her arms out to him. 

She watched as Fitz hesitated for a moment, seemingly uncertain as to what he should do, but eventually he did crawl in after her, and settled along her side. He folded himself against her, head tucked just beneath her chin and leg thrown over her thigh to tangle with her own. A fresh wave of relief flooded through Jemma, and her arms came around him, anchoring Fitz to her body. 

This, having Fitz with her, felt so unspeakably right that even here, a thousand kilometers from the country she’d called home all her life, Jemma knew she had found the place she was meant to be. Finally feeling settled, she pressed a kiss to Fitz’ curls, and quickly dropped into a deep, restful sleep.


	38. Chapter 38

She woke a few hours later, warm, still surrounded by Fitz, and feeling incredibly well rested. Unlike most mornings they spent together, however, today Jemma refused to move. As much as she was certain that he would like a warm breakfast, she wanted time with him. So, she held where she was, admiring the way the morning sunlight brought out the hints of gold in his curls, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers as he slumbered. Unable to resist, Jemma brought a hand up to card her fingers through his hair, and nuzzled down closer to him, wanting just a few more quiet moments with him before morning broke over them both. 

Fitz let Jemma draw him down into the bed, settling in at her side with a quiet sigh as he relaxed. It had been a difficult day at work to start with and fighting with Jemma had made it that much worse. Exhausted, still feeling sad and hurt, he let the familiar comfort of being tucked in with Jemma soothe him into sleep, not even caring that he’d never changed out of his work clothes. 

When he finally woke, he was surprised to find himself still in the same position, wrapped around Jemma. That didn’t usually happen, both of them moving around a bit in their sleep and then snuggling back in together when they woke. This time though, Fitz’ arm was wrapped around her, their legs in a tangle… and Fitz abruptly realized, somehow, that she was already awake. 

Letting out a little grumble, he nuzzled in against Jemma’s chest, not even looking up at her. “Stop starin’ at me, Jem,” he mumbled. “Go back t’ sleep.” 

“Sorry,” she whispered, her tone blatantly unapologetic. “I’ll try not to stare so loudly.” 

Even in the growing daylight, even with Fitz twined about her, Jemma felt some of her anxiety from the previous night creep back. It didn’t seem as dire as it had the night before, no, but there was still a lingering fear that this could be the last time she got to cuddle with Fitz in this way. She knew if he could hear her thoughts, he’d be upset and would chide her once more for being silly, but she couldn’t shake it. 

She did, however, lean back into the pillows and close her eyes as her fingers brushed against his scalp once more. If Fitz wanted a few more quiet moments to sleep, she would do her best to give them to him, soaking in the comfort of simply being near him. 

Even so, Fitz couldn’t drift back off, his thoughts circling aimlessly now that he was awake and aware. Shifting to stretch, he rolled his shoulders and then his head back, settling it on Jemma’s shoulder where he could see her too. Fitz could practically see and hear her silent worrying, and it sent another wave of sadness through him, hating that she was still so uncertain. Yes, she’d made a pretty huge mistake, but Fitz understood why she’d done it and that made it easier to forgive. And he wasn’t entirely blameless, even though he had reasons for what he’d done, as well. 

After a long moment of watching her, he brought his hand up from her waist to cup Jemma’s cheek, turning her toward him to press a soft, lazy kiss against her mouth. “Is okay,” he mumbled against her mouth, voice still low and rough with sleep, “We’re okay. Love y’.” 

Jemma opened her eyes once more when she felt him move, and found that her breath caught in her throat as she watched him watching her. She knew, without a doubt, that Fitz was aware of each and every one of her insecurities in that moment, and while she was grateful she had someone capable of loving her that way, she couldn’t help but tear up as she worried her lower lip between her teeth. 

His hand was warm against her cheek, and Jemma found herself nodding as she kissed him back, joyful tears slipping down her cheeks. Fitz had a handle on them. They would be all right. “Love you, too,” she murmured against his mouth, pressing closer to him as they shifted together, leaving them both on their sides, Jemma tucked against his chest, her face hidden entirely from view as she tried to still her tears and clung to him. 

Any other time when he was comforting Jemma, Fitz would rub her back, wide palms and long fingers stroking up and down her back. Except this time, Jemma had scared him, too. This incident was too close for his comfort, and he held her tightly, one arm banded around her back, the other around her shoulders, his hand cupping the back of her head and tangled in Jemma’s hair. Tipping his nose into her messy hair, Fitz sighed, warm breath clouding against her skin. 

“Shhh, baby girl,” he whispered, swallowing hard when his own eyes burned. “Is okay. Just talk t’ me next time, okay? I’ve never lied t’ y’, lass. Even when I knew it would hurt t’ tell the truth. We can figure this out… Just dinna... dinna try t’ leave like that again. Please. We canna fix anythin’ that way.” Fitz cleared his throat, voice thick at the end as a bit of the panic returned at the thought of her leaving. If she’d demanded he let her go last night, he would have, but it would have broken them in ways that couldn’t be repaired so easily. 

Jemma gave a sharp gasp, her heart unclenching as Fitz clutched at her, his words rasping against her skin. She felt unbelievably lucky, blessed, that he was still with her, that he hadn’t let her walk away from him, them, last night. She realized once more just how close she had come to destroying them last night, pressed her forehead more firmly against his shoulder in response. 

“I know, I know you haven’t.” The words tumbled out of Jemma in a mad rush, nearly incomprehensible. “I’m so, so ashamed that I let her- my mother’s words- that I even allowed myself to entertain-” She swallowed around the lump in her throat, using the pause to try to put herself back together. “No more walking away, Fitz. I promise. You deserve better than that, I promise, I’ll never walk away again.”

“Don’t do that t’ yourself, lass,” Fitz soothed, stroking his hand over Jemma’s hair and straightening it a bit before settling his palm at the back of her neck again. “Vivian would have said anythin’ t’ try and get y’ to leave me. We both know that. I canna even say I’m surprised, really,” he admitted softly, “Even about the investigator, but I dinna have secrets. No’ from y’, at least. There’s things I havena told y’, sure, but is no’ because I’m tryin’ t’ keep them from y’. Whatever y’ want t’ know, whenever, just ask.” 

Fitz drew back a little, not trying to pull away from Jemma, but trying to get a look at her face. He knew she was crying - the hitch of her body in his arms had given that away from the start, but Fitz also needed Jemma to know he was serious. He trusted her with everything, anything, as long as they were putting their relationship - whether romantic or platonic - first. 

Fitz’ blue eyes were serious as he gazed at her, although the disappointment she had expected to see there was conspicuously absent. Instead, Jemma saw what she needed most from him, hope and love, and she found herself smiling in response. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly as she brought a hand up to scrub at them, not wanting the feeling of her tears to linger any more than they already had, before laying her arm over his waist. 

She watched him a few beats more, allowing her heart beat and her breathing to return to something that at least resembled normal, and inched closer. “I can do that,” she agreed, giving him an uncertain smile and pressing a kiss to his cheek. It took her a few moments more to figure out how she wanted to phrase it, but eventually, she found the words for what she wanted to say. “I just wish you’d told me about what had happened, why we’d need condoms, when you were back home.”

It was true that she and Fitz had never seen eye-to-eye about his dating habits, and that Jemma had expressed on more than one occasion concern for his safety, but she hadn’t thought she’d given him reason to hide anything, either. Their agreement had been simple: she had given him a deadline to sort things out, and hadn’t bothered prying about how he went about it. She knew he’d been dating, had assumed he hadn’t been celibate, but had accepted that once Fitz said he was dedicated to her, that was it. His sexual past really only mattered to her in instances such as this, where it might put one or both of them at risk, and it hurt her more than she cared to admit that he hadn’t warned her about it sooner. 

Fitz flinched at her words, ducking his head. “I get that, now. I meant what I said last night, Jem. When I was home last time, I still wasna ready for anything t’ happen. Then last night was a total surprise. I always assumed tha’ even if I was clean, we would still use them. I always have, except for the few times over the years when there’s been a slip - a couple times the condom broke, an’ twice I went down on someone without one. I’ve never been with someone long term t’ even consider goin’ without.” 

His rambled explanation cut off abruptly, sadness and not a little shame evident in his expression, but he forced himself to meet Jemma’s eyes. “We both made some assumptions that got us into trouble, I think. But I really am sorry, lass. An’ I think… we need t’ settle that before anythin’ else happens between us.” 

The flicker of self-doubt didn’t go unnoticed by Jemma, and she automatically brought her hand up to cup his cheek. The one promise she had made, at least to herself, was that she wouldn’t push Fitz this way, and it seemed that she’d gone and blown that all to hell. 

“It’s okay if you’re not ready, Fitz, and I was wrong in what I did last night, not even pausing to really give you a choice.” Jemma brushed her thumb along his cheekbone, just admiring him for a moment. “Aside from that, I made the mistake of assuming you’d be like my past boyfriends; they were all so eager to be done with condoms, I’d assumed all men thought similarly. And in truth, I’ve never cared for them, either, and given that my relationships have tended to be monogamous, the pill was always enough.”

Jemma gave a little half shrug as she allowed Fitz a moment to let her words sink in. “But, we’re not them, are we?” 

Fitz gave her a wibbly little half-smile, one corner of his mouth quirking for a moment before falling again. “No- Jem, I’m no’ upset with y’ for that, at all. Is no’ like I gave y’ any reason t’ think I’m still no’ ready, no’ considerin’ some of the texts that have gone back an’ forth between us, lately. An’ is no’ that I didna appreciate y’ showin’ up unexpectedly an’ surprisin’ me, either. I jus’... Chris’, it was spectacularly bad timin’, all the way around.” He chuckled at the last bit, but it was hoarse and only vaguely humorous. 

“I’d had a terrible day, y’ had a terrible day an’ y’ were upset, we were both out of sorts an’ is no’ really a surprise it blew up in our faces,” Fitz admitted, sighing and dropping a kiss on Jemma’s forehead. They weren’t entirely out of the water yet. And might not be for a while, but he felt so much better now that they were just talking out some of the messiness. “And no, we’re no’ them.” 

Fitz’ cheeks flushed a bit at Jemma’s mention of her birth control pills. “Even so, I still dinna know how I feel about no’ usin’ condoms, even if I’m clean. I dinna want kids… definitely no’ now. Maybe no’ ever, I dunno. An’ - I seem t’ remember tha’ the pills are no’ always effective. So I’d feel better if tha’ wasna the only means we were usin’ t’ protect ourselves.” 

Jemma nodded as he spoke, knowing full well that Fitz was right. Neither of them had been in the best state of mind yesterday, and they were lucky they’d only had a quick blow up that they were able to resolve together. Although, she had to admit, she felt better hearing him say that he did think he was ready to make love to her, and that it was more a matter of timing than any lingering feelings of confusion on his part. 

She did grimace when he brought up condoms again, though, but she could understand his concern about possible failure. At 25, and embarking on a medical career, she wasn’t ready for children either. Unlike her youngest sister, who even in her teens was going on about her perfect wedding and husband and family, Jemma had never really imagined a life in a house with a white picket fence and just the right number of children. She wanted someone to share her life, with, but had never given much thought as to what would come after that. 

Which was why she wasn’t so surprised when she found herself saying, “There are other options, you know. Aside from the pill,” she clarified as Fitz gave her a puzzled glance. “To be honest, there are a number of reasons I dislike condoms. There’s the higher rate of failure and reduced sensation,” she ticked off, naming the two most common complaints about them. 

With a slight wrinkle of her nose, she added, “There’s also the fact that stopping for them can completely kill the mood, and personally, I’m not a fan of the taste of latex, even if it’s been flavored. Ideally, I’d like to avoid using them entirely, if possible.” 

Seeing that Jemma was about to delve into a full-on ramble, Fitz cut her off with a short kiss. “Shh. I get it. Is no’ like I’m no’ unaware there are downfalls. I expected there were other options, but I’m no entirely familiar. You’re the doctor, here,” he pointed out, his usual teasing tone making a brief reappearance, “So if there’s a better option than the pills an’ condoms, with a better success rate, I’m open t’ ideas. Or point me in the right direction an’ I’ll research, whichever.” Fitz wasn’t going to leave it entirely in her hands unless she already knew what option she’d prefer. 

Fitz glanced over Jemma’s shoulder and was distracted by the clock. He was already late to work. Sighing softly, he disentangled himself from Jemma. “I’ll be righ’ back. I need t’ call in t’ work.” His blue eyes refocused on Jemma, looking hesitant, “An’ I assume y’ have a flight back t’ London at some point. When is tha’?” 

“Three,” Jemma answered softly, propping herself up on an elbow to watch as he padded across the room to where he’d left his phone. She mentally ran through the options available to them, trying to weigh which options they both could live with, as Fitz called in to the airfield. She shifted once more, giving him more room at the edge of the bed as he returned to her, and waited for him to get settled before she gave him what she thought were their best options. 

“The only two methods I think we could both live with would be either an IUD or an implant,” Jemma began, watching Fitz’ eyes as she spoke. “They’re the most effective methods, short of abstinence, which I don’t think either of us would be happy with.” Fitz gave a quick frown at the very mention of it, and Jemma couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her throat. “See! I knew I was right. Anyway, I know I’d prefer an IUD. Both are options are long-term, and neither involves a daily anything on either of our parts, but IUDs typically last longer.” 

“I’ve no idea what that is,” Fitz said, his brows furrowing as he made note of the acronym. He’d look into it later and make sure he understood what they were getting into. “But if that’s what you prefer an’ it works, then I’m okay with tha’. Is your body, after all. I only get an opinion, not t’ tell y’ what t’ do with it,” he smirked, relaxing a bit more. This finally felt more like one of their usual discussions, despite the rather serious subject matter. 

Fitz hated knowing he was going to have to let Jemma go again so soon, knowing things weren’t entirely settled between them. At least he still had about six hours, including driving her back to Munich, before he had to be without her again, for at least another few weeks. They were more than halfway through November, and there was at least two weeks more to go, more likely three or four. December 20th was the absolute latest the aerospace group could afford to delay the project. Either the planes went into production after New Years’ with the new fuel system and engine, or they went with the old design and scrapped Fitz’ altogether. 

Needless to say, he had a very vested interest - as in, his entire career at stake - in making this work. No matter how much he missed Jemma when they were separated, or how homesick he was, he had to stay focused on that. Any day except today, at least. Fitz returned his focus to Jemma after making his call and padded back over toward the bed, crawling back in next to her. “We’ll leave aroun’ noon then. Be at the airport about an hour before the flight,” he suggested. “I’ll drive y’ back, of course.” 

“All right,” Jemma readily agreed, although she felt suddenly heavier at the mere idea of going back to England. As nice as the idea was to fantasize about, she couldn’t very well impose on Fitz and stay in Germany, not when he had to focus on his work and she had her own career to think about. So for now, she would content herself with wrapping an arm across his chest and snuggling in closer. 

“You know,” she began, speaking slowly, “you get more than an opinion about this.” Jemma propped her chin on his pectoral and looked at him with serious eyes. “Both of these options are long term… and I would only consider them to use with someone I can see being around for the long term.” She saw the moment Fitz realized what she was saying, in her own roundabout way. “So, you do get to weigh in on this, and I like that you want to say something.” 

The corner of Fitz’ mouth quirked up again at Jemma’s unsubtle declaration that she was planning on keeping him around for a long while. “Of course I get t’ weigh in. But you get final say, tha’s all. I’ll do my own research - y’ know I hate no’ knowin’ things - but unless I find out somethin’ ridiculous about this IUD thing tha’ you’re no’ tellin’ me, I canna see makin’ a huge fuss about it. I trust that y’ know what you’re talkin’ about.” 

Fitz wriggled his arm out from between them to wrap it around Jemma’s shoulders, drawing her in closer to his side. “If I didna say it before, lass, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed y’.”

“I should hope I know what I’m talking about,” Jemma shot back as they settled into their new position, “or I’ve wasted a rather lot of time and money going to medical school.” She stuck her tongue out at Fitz and grinned, finally relaxing fully. She loved that he could make her feel playful and childlike in the best of ways; he appreciated the moments of levity, whereas most of the other people she was close to insisted that such things were marks of immaturity. 

A life full of silly moments with Fitz sounded rather nice, and so Jemma softened as she murmured, “I’ve missed you, too. London isn’t the same without you.” There was much more to it than that, but Jemma was still leery of frightening Fitz away. Certainly, if anything was going to scare him off, telling him that she only thought of “home” as being where he was sure to be high on that list. 

The thought of home, or more specifically, her flat, made Jemma groan and duck her head against Fitz’ chest. “I really don’t want to go back.” 

“Silly lass,” Fitz laughed. “Of course y’ didna waste your time. You’re brillian’, y’ know that.” Her grin and laughter finally released the last of the knots lingering in his belly, fully convincing him that they were going to be okay. At least, until her expression faltered and she buried her face in his chest a minute later. Fitz hadn’t gotten a good look at her face when it crumpled, he was so surprised by the sudden change, but it had been enough to know she was upset. 

Suddenly wary, unsure again, Fitz rubbed his hand up and down her back, soothing, but she didn’t relax any. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he twisted a little until he could get his other arm around her, dragging Jemma on top of him and holding her there. “Alrigh’, lass, what’s wrong? Is somethin’ t’ do with Vivian, isn’ it? Dinna think I didna notice y’ left somethin’ out of the story before,” he said quietly. 

Jemma sighed, and moving her head only so much as she had to meet his eyes, glanced at Fitz. She should have known better than to think she could have kept something from him, particularly when she was in an emotional state. More often than not, Fitz seemed to know what was bothering her before she did, and only after taking the time to carefully choose her words, did she tell him the other half of the fallout from the fight she’d had with her mother. 

“When I stormed out yesterday, I said some things that upset my mother.” Jemma flushed, both with anger as she remembered the fight and shame as she remembered the fallout, but maintained eye contact with Fitz. She wanted him to know she was telling him the entire truth, that she trusted him with what had happened. “I told her you were the only family I really had, and rushed up to my room to pack my bag. When I came back down, she was waiting for me at the door, and she… she told me she expected me out of my flat by the start of the New Year. Addy’s apparently going to be attending university in London, and they want the space for her.” 

Jemma gave a small shrug before ducking her face back against Fitz. “It was a convenient bit of reasoning,” she murmured against his heart, “but I’m certain it was only payback for what I said.” 

Fitz stilled at Jemma’s recitation of the events. He could tell she was struggling not to get upset again, and he braced himself for the punchline of the story, which he was certain was going to be terribly unfunny. Even with preparing himself, he couldn’t help the way he flinched when the entirety of what Jemma had just told him hit. “Chris’, Jemma,” he muttered, hugging her close. “I never meant for y’ to… I dinna know whether I should be thankin’ y’, or upset y’ did that for me…”

Stunned, he sucked in a breath, letting the implications of what Jemma had done sink in. At the very least, there was one thing he knew for certain, and he said so. “Well, is no’ like y’ dinna have anywhere t’ go, lass,” he said, his tone certain and sure. He dropped a kiss into her hair, along with a gentle, affectionate nuzzle. “Y’ have the key t’ my place in Highgate. Bring your things an’ make yourself at home.” 

Recounting the story of what exactly had caused her to flee her parents’ home had taken its toll on Jemma, and for a moment, all she could really process was the feeling of Fitz’ lips in her hair and the tender way he held her. It was only when she realized he seemed to be waiting for her to answer something that her brain finally got up to speed. 

“Fitz, are you sure?” she asked, eyes wide. She had no personal objections when it came to living with Fitz; as it was, they were always in each other’s space anyway. “I mean… what about space? I suppose some of my things could go into storage, and we’ll have to toy with the closet space, but… are you really sure?” Jemma had pushed herself up as she spoke, her eagerness taking root, her excitement at the prospect of living with Fitz showing on her face. 

“Course I’m sure,” Fitz said, shaking his head. “Is no’ like we dinna already spend most of our time together. We can figure out the space issues later on. My closet could probably stand t’ be cleaned out, anyway. An’ I can always move the hanging bar or put in shelves,” Fitz shrugged. It wasn’t impossible. Jemma had a studio, he had a one bedroom flat. Finding space for all the books would be the biggest issue, but they could make it work with a little negotiation. “Some of your stuff - an’ some of mine, too - might still need t’ go into storage, but I dinna think it’ll be as much as y’ think.” 

He was already sorting through the things he knew Jemma had, and what was in his place, growing more certain of his assertion. “Yeah. It’ll work. Y’ can rearrange things if y’ want, even. I didna fuss over it when I moved in, but if y’ have a better idea t’ fit your stuff in, do it.” Fitz paused for a moment, considering again. “Or y’ can wait til I’m back in London, if y’ dinna mind waitin’ that long. An’ which bed are we keepin’? I think mine’s more comfortable, even if is a little smaller.” 

“The furniture is my parents’. They’ll expect it to stay,” Jemma quickly jumped in, picking up on Fitz’ enthusiasm for the idea. “Which, thankfully, should make it easier. I only have to pack my clothing and the personal items I brought in with me. I can even leave the kitchen things for Addy, although I’ll bring over the things we really need. I love my sister, but she can buy her own supplies, push comes to shove.”

“I think I’ll try to move in a bit at a time,” she continued, rolling a bit onto her back and staring at the ceiling as she mentally mapped out what steps she’d need to take first. “I have six weeks, but I’d rather have it done well before New Year’s Day.” She looked back up at Fitz, ignoring the slightly awkward angle her neck suffered to catch a glimpse of him. “Besides, I’d like to be able to focus on you when you come home, not be harried from still trying to move my things in.” 

She would likely have to live out of boxes, at least to some extent, while she waited for Fitz to come home and make the necessary adjustments to the closet, but she could handle that. It was a small price to pay to be able to start a life with Fitz. 

“Alright, then,” Fitz nodded. “Just shove my things over in the closet if y’ need t’ hang things up, an’ we’ll sort it out when I get back. Everythin’ will end up a bit of a mess for a while when I redo the closet anyway, so it doesna matter,” he noted practically. “An’ I can go through my stuff then an’ toss what I dinna wear anymore.” Along with anything else he’d accumulated since moving in there. The problem with being a broke college student was that almost everything had been bought piecemeal and didn’t match at all. 

He also made a note to buy new bedding. Not that what he had was bad, but… There was history attached to it, to say the least. History that he’d rather move past, if he was settling down with Jemma and she was going to be living there with him. Besides, it was all cheap, dark bachelor type bedding and Jemma deserved better. Fitz still had money put away from the bonus he’d gotten over the summer, and there was also likely to be a bonus of some sort from either the aerospace company or the research foundation for finishing this next phase of the project, and nothing really to spend it on. He might as well use it to make the flat more comfortable for the both of them. 

“Whichever way y’ decide t’ go about it is fine, lass,” he reassured her, squeezing his arms around her for a hug. “Pretty sure there’s nothin’ hanging about that I’d be embarrassed for y’ t’ see.” 

They spent the majority of their day in bed, cuddling and allowing the conversation to wander across a million little topics. At one point, Jemma found herself amazed that they could keep talking; it wasn’t as if they didn’t speak nearly every day, but yet, the conversation never seemed to run out. It was infinitely reassuring that they could go back and forth with each other, and far too soon, Fitz was nudging her and regretfully nodding toward the clock. 

She rushed through her shower and gathered the few things she had managed to scatter through the studio in the half-day she’d been there. That settled, she found herself slowly following Fitz out of his flat and back to the car. Once she saw it, a grin tugged the corners of Jemma’s mouth upward. She hadn’t had the chance to appreciate the sleek black coupe last night, but now…

She shot a mischievous look in the Scot’s direction and nodded back toward the car. “So… you plan on showing me exactly what this thing can do, or do I have to beg?” 

Fitz laughed at Jemma’s eagerness, the playful expression and tone. “I can give y’ a brief tour. Once we’re on the main roads, I need t’ behave. The police tend t’ frown on foreigners speeding around, and I canna afford t’ lose my work visa.” Still, the idea of Jemma being just as enthused about playing with the car had his mood lightening a bit, and he was quick to start up the GPS in the dash, setting it to navigate to a town on the way to Munich, but using the back roads to get there. 

“And I need t’ get y’ t’ Munich in time for your flight,” he added, pouting a bit. Fitz would be perfectly happy for Jemma to stay in Germany longer than this, but there was nothing for her to do out here and she still had to work. Especially if Vivian was serious about cutting Jemma off, and Fitz had no doubt that if it was between cutting Jemma off or accepting him that the Simmons matriarch would happily expel Jemma from the family. 

Jemma returned his pout, her hand reaching out so she could lightly scrape her nails against the back of his neck, and turned her attention back to the road. The glint in Fitz’ eye when she’d asked him to put the car through its paces, and she was looking forward to a number of things aside from the speeds she was sure Fitz would reach. It was rare to see him this carefree, and she felt particularly privileged to see it this time, as she knew he didn’t drive when they were home. 

Which, Jemma reflected as she watched him shift gears, the muscles in his forearms rippling a bit, was a shame. Although, it was probably for the best. If she had seen him like this at home, she likely would have tried jumping him much sooner than she had. That thought flitting through her mind and her attention firmly riveted on his hands as he effortlessly controlled the vehicle, Jemma found herself squirming a bit in her seat by the time Fitz took them off the back roads and onto the main stretch of the Autobahn that would carry them into Munich. 

Fitz wasn’t completely oblivious to Jemma’s attention, although he had to put it out of his mind and focus on the road as he maneuvered the car through the narrow roads. The route he’d chosen was one he’d taken on other occasions, and he knew the sections of road that he could race through at breakneck speeds. He caught himself grinning after successfully navigating a series of sharp turns, glancing over at Jemma when he finally came out onto one of the main roads. 

Regretfully maintaining a more sedate pace once they were heading toward Munich, Fitz waited until he was at cruising speed to reach over and catch Jemma’s hand. Sliding his fingers under hers, he tugged it over until her hand was cupped over his, fingers twined together over the gearshift as he continued on the way into the city. 

After all the talking that morning, he was mostly silent then, and as they covered the distance to the airport, Fitz felt the earlier levity fading. 

Lightly, so as not to disturb his driving, Jemma gave Fitz’ hand a reassuring squeeze. She knew he was as disappointed as she was to be separated again, but they only had a few more weeks. They had made it this far; the last stretch was certainly nothing to fear. 

Still, Jemma was slow to exit the vehicle when Fitz parked in short term parking, wishing she could change the laws of physics to extend her time with him just a bit further. He seemed to be in the same mood, and their fingers easily intertwined as they meandered toward the terminals. Not feeling near enough to him, Jemma wrapped an arm around his waist and nudged Fitz toward the side so those passengers who were in a greater hurry than they could get by. 

Try as they might to delay, though, eventually Jemma and Fitz found themselves lingering near the security gate in a scene not unlike the time she had seen him off from Heathrow. Turning to face him, Jemma curled her fingers into his belt loops and hauled him closer so she could look up at him. “I’ll make that appointment as soon as I get home, yeah?” 

“Okay,” Fitz murmured, nodding, but a moment later he’d tugged her in for a tight hug, clinging more than a bit. “With any luck, I’ll be home before that happens. I’ll go with, if y’ want.” He might not know exactly what it involved, but if Jemma wanted moral support, he could do that, at least. 

With a sigh, Fitz let Jemma go and stepped back from her. “Y’ should go on through, lass, or you’ll miss your flight.” There was only about 40 minutes left before takeoff, and Jemma had to get through security and out to her gate. He leaned back in again, brushing a kiss against her mouth. “A few more weeks an’ I’ll be home again, okay?” 

Jemma nodded and Fitz stole one more kiss before he reluctantly drew back again. “Alrigh’, lass. I’m going t’ go before I really do make y’ miss your plane. Love y’... be careful gettin’ home.” He waited just long enough for her to say she loved him, too, before he turned and headed for the exit, shoulders hunched. Being in Germany was wearing on him and he wasn’t sure he could watch her walk away from him to go through security, already feeling far too alone. 

She’d had just enough time to return Fitz’ kiss, easily picking up on the sadness that was readily taking him over, and mumble, “Love you, too,” before he turned away from her. Jemma felt as though she’d been cast adrift as she lost his warmth, and she stood there for a long moment, unsure of what she should be doing. She glanced toward the security line, then back to the dejected form of her boyfriend, shoulders hunched as he made his way back to the entrance. That decided her. 

“Fitz!” she called, heedless of the strange stares the other travelers gave her. Jemma dropped her bag where she stood and took off for him, desperate to touch him one last time before boarding her plane, and only slowed enough to jump into his arms, her own coming to wrap around his neck. There was an instant, when she heard his soft oof of surprise, when she felt bad, but then her mouth was on his and she was too busy pouring everything she could into their kiss. 

“I miss you already,” she managed to get out before Fitz pulled her into another fierce kiss. “I love you. Please, hurry up with that brilliant design of yours, and come home to me.”

“I’ll do my best, Jem, I promise,” Fitz whispered against her mouth. “An’ you’re no’ makin’ it any easier t’ let y’ go, y’ know.” He swallowed hard, his eyes suspiciously glossy as he gently set Jemma back from him. “Go on. Call me when y’ get back t’ London an’ let me know y’ made it home okay.” 

Fitz sucked in a deep breath and slipped away from her again, forcing himself out the door and returning to the car. Even so, he barely made it off the airport property before he pulled off the road where he could see the runway and waited, watching for a British Airways plane to take off just after the clock ticked over to 3pm. Once she was gone, he sighed and got back on the road. With any luck, he could be back in his flat and have a meal in his stomach before she called to say she was home.


	39. Chapter 39

Jemma’s only saving grace in the intervening weeks since visiting Fitz in Germany was the fact that she was so bloody busy, she barely got a moment to herself. After she touched down at Heathrow (and called Fitz to let her know she was back on the ground), it had all began: Singh had her working rotating shifts, she was running down job leads, calling her physician, and packing up her things to slowly move them into Fitz’ flat. Her mother had tried to reach out to her, too, no doubt to snoop for details about where she’d disappeared to for 36 hours, but Jemma avoided answering her mobile. She could just go back to Bellamy for information, as far as Jemma was concerned. 

Suddenly, December, and her doctor’s appointment was bearing down on her, and Jemma found herself facing another dilemma. Her doctor had readily agreed to switch her to a hormonal IUD, but the crux of it all was that she had to wait for her cycle to begin before it could be inserted. Fitz had made it clear that he’d wanted to be at the appointment, but in all of her conversations with him so far, it didn’t seem that he was any closer to coming home than he’d been three weeks prior, and experience told her that her appointment would be fast approaching. Jemma hated to nag, knowing just how hard he was working, but she didn’t see another choice. She had to call Fitz. 

On one of her days off, Jemma took a break from packing up her things to call Fitz, hoping she wouldn’t be interrupting anything too pressing by calling in the middle of the work day. 

Things weren’t exactly going well in Germany, but they weren’t necessarily going badly, either. Fitz was buried in finicky details of the fuel system, now that the worst of the work was done, modifying his engine to fit a smaller, lighter plane than what it had initially been designed for. The prototype engines for the first three test planes were in testing and almost ready for installation, Fitz just needed to finish this bit and he’d be free to go home. The German engineers could take over from there, with him consulting from a distance. 

He’d also talked to his landlord - a former professor - and gotten some advice about protecting his project, as well as the name of a solicitor who specialized in intellectual property rights. Fitz had a sneaking suspicion that one or both of the groups he was working with was going to try to lay claim to his work and he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. The buzz of his phone against the metal work table and the sight of Jemma’s smiling face on the screen of his phone was a welcome distraction from everything on his mind, and Fitz hurriedly snatched it up, pressing the answer button. 

“Jemma! Hey, give me a second t’ get outside where I can hear,” he said immediately, knowing with all the construction noise he’d hear nothing until he was in another space. Fitz slipped outside, wincing at the bite of the December air on his bare arms. He should have grabbed his coat. “Okay. Hi. What’s got y’ callin’ me in the middle of the day?” 

“Not much,” Jemma answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. She knew she had to tell him about her upcoming appointment, but he seemed to be in such good spirits that she didn’t want to bring them down. Not if it would negatively impact his work. “Just calling to check in. You sound good. The work’s coming along?”

“Jemma,” Fitz chided immediately. “Y’ never call me before four unless y’ have somethin’ y’ need t’ talk about. What is it?” She seemed to forget sometimes just how well he knew her, or just how ingrained their habits were. Fitz usually went into the workshop early and wrapped up between 3:30 and 4:30. Jemma had taken to catching him then if she was working the night shift, or around 9, if she’d worked the day shift, after she’d gotten home and fed herself. 

She winced on the other end of the line, knowing damn well she should have expected Fitz to know something was on her mind. “Sorry, it’s just that,” Jemma licked her lips and sucked in a deep breath before she continued, “I was wondering if you had an idea of when you’d be home. My appointment is coming up, you see…” She trailed off, eyes trained sightlessly on the box she’d been busy packing and worry that she was bothering him gnawing at her gut. 

“Appointment? Oh. Shite,” Fitz swore under his breath, realizing what Jemma was asking about. “I’m no’ sure, Jem. Another few days, at least. I canna go until I get the fuel system done, but after that I can come home right away. When’s the appointment, again, exactly?” It was on his calendar, he knew - Jemma had called him right after she’d put it on her own schedule and he’d made a note of it - but it would be faster for her to just tell him than for him to look it up at the moment. 

“Early next week, likely Monday or Tuesday,” she answered, eyes sliding shut. She felt incredibly guilty. He was trying to wrap up a major project for an international firm; this was something she could easily handle on her own. “There’s no exact date, since she wants to wait for my menses to start, but thankfully they’re predictable.”

Fitz sighed softly, even as he ducked around the corner of the building and into a stairwell to get out of the wind. It was already Thursday. There was no guarantee he’d make it home in time and he said as much. “I’m sorry, baby girl. Y’ know I’ll be there if I can. I was plannin’ on workin’ over the weekend anyway, but I definitely will now,” he added, trying to be reassuring. “Y’ said is no big deal, though, right? You’re still plannin’ on goin’ t’ work that night?” 

He’d gone in to Munich the previous weekend to have his own medical concerns attended to, and come back with a clean bill of health - all the STI tests had come back fully negative and he had the paperwork to document it. Now he sort of wished he’d worked through that weekend, too. If he’d known, maybe he could have wrapped up sooner. He hated disappointing Jemma, but he didn’t have a choice. 

“No, it’s nothing major at all.” That much was true, Jemma was certain, but there was still a part of her, the part that medical school hadn’t trained out of her, that wanted a hand to hold through the procedure. Aware that Fitz would likely hear any doubt in her tone, she quickly forced a smile onto her face and continued. “It should be nice and quick, in and out, and I’ll be at work that night. I already checked with Singh, and he put me on all night shifts for next week.” 

“Alright, lass,” Fitz murmured. “I’ve got t’ get back t’ work. An’ is bloody cold out here. But I really am sorry, okay? I promise, I’ll be there if I can.” The words sounded hollow to his own ears, like he wasn’t doing enough to get home to her, knowing this was going on. He wasn’t oblivious to the sudden forced brightness to her words, but without having anything to reassure her, Fitz had to let it go for the moment. 

Jemma found herself nodding before she realized he couldn’t actually see her and she had to use her words. “Okay, Fitz. I love you. I’ll see you soon.” There was more she wanted to say, wanted to reassure him that she really could handle going to her doctor on her own, but she knew it was too late. That little hint of discontent had already crept into his voice, and she couldn’t do anything from this far away. 

Feeling unsettled, Jemma disconnected the call and turned her attention back to her flat, look far more barren than it had in years. She had nearly everything packed away, and threw herself into finishing the task. If she could finish by tomorrow, she could be moved into Fitz’ flat before he was home. The idea made Jemma smile, and she began planning what meal she wanted to make for their first night together as she made short work of the rest of her knickknacks. 

~*~

By Sunday evening, Fitz was pretty sure he could wrap up the project on Monday and fly home early on Tuesday. Except, when he got into the workshop on Monday, he was told he needed to have a final meeting with the project heads in the aerospace division, and that couldn’t happen until Tuesday morning. Frustrated, Fitz had bitten his tongue and simply nodded, very glad he hadn’t said anything to Jemma about his expected timeline. 

Since his part was done though, he went back to his flat for the afternoon and packed as much of his things as he could, so when he went in Tuesday morning everything was in the trunk of the car. Once they said he could go, he didn’t want to waste time running around - he just wanted to be on the road. Except that plan failed, too, with all the questions they had to ask. Fitz couldn’t help but resent it a little bit. These people worked in another building at the airfield - why hadn’t they come over to ask these things before? Or emailed, for Christ’s sake? 

All in all, it was late in the evening by the time he got to Munich, and close to 11 by the time he got to his flat at Highgate. He regretted that he hadn’t made it in time to even see Jemma between her appointment that morning and going in for her shift at the hospital. If he could get a few hours of sleep in though, Fitz mused, he’d get up early and meet her for coffee when she came off shift, a ritual they’d had to give up when he’d left for Germany. 

Carrying his bags in, Fitz was startled for a moment at the sight of his flat in the dim light from the foyer. A stack of boxes lined one wall, and his couch and TV had been moved. After a moment he grinned though - she’d taken him at his word to make herself at home, and while he was unsure about the positioning of the furniture, it didn’t really matter. He’d get used to it, if that’s what Jemma wanted. Double checking that he’d locked the door, and leaving his bags there - he’d worry about unpacking tomorrow - Fitz headed into his bedroom, wanting nothing more than to crash for the night, only to stop short at the sight of a lump under the blankets. 

“Jemma?” Fitz called softly, creeping toward the bed. What was she doing home?

Jemma had greatly overestimated her ability to handle the discomfort of having an IUD inserted. It wasn’t that it was awful, per se, at least as far as the procedure went, but the after effects… She had never considered herself particularly sensitive when it came to menstrual cramps, but these were easily the worst she’d ever had in her life. Jemma knew that it was all to be expected, but that didn’t make it feel any better, even with a heating pad pressed to her abdomen and plenty of painkillers in her system. 

She forgot her pain when she heard Fitz call out to her, and turned to face him, a decision she quickly regretted. She moaned rather pathetically, and when the pain had subsided just enough, peeked out at him from beneath the covers. She gave him as much of a smile as she could manage and greeted him. “Hi, Fitz. Welcome home.” 

He could see the pain on her face as soon as she turned toward him, and hurried forward, carefully edging himself down onto the edge of the mattress. “I thought y’ said this was no big deal, Jem?” Fitz asked, trying to keep his voice gentle, rather than reflect his worry, as he reached to stroke Jemma’s hair back from her face. “Are y’ okay? Should- do y’ need t’ go t’ A&E?” 

Fitz hadn’t ever seen her look like this, pale and pained, almost fragile in the way she was curled into the fetal position. 

Even through her pain, Jemma had to smile at Fitz’ obvious concern for her. He really was one of the sweetest men she’d ever met, and she knew just how lucky she was to have him in her life. Snaking a single hand out, Jemma reached up to wrap her fingers around his bicep and gently tug him down closer to her. 

“No, love, I don’t need to go to A&E,” she reassured him, grimacing briefly as she settled onto her back before she could put the heating pad back in place. “I just overestimated my pain tolerance is all.” She smiled at Fitz, hoping to see him relax, but she had no such luck. “I mean it. This is normal. I’ve been taking paracetamol and using the heating pad. That’s about all I can do. The pain should be more manageable tomorrow.” 

Fitz sighed, kicking himself again for not coming home soon. “I’m sorry I wasna here,” he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Give me a minute t’ clean up a little an’ change - I’ll be right back.” He was still in a dress shirt and slacks from the meeting early that morning, his suit jacket left out in the foyer with his pea coat, and it would just be uncomfortable to sleep in, even if he could get the wrinkles out later on. 

Slipping away, he took a moment to find his pajamas - Jemma had reorganized the dresser too, and they’d moved from their usual spot in the left middle drawer - and disappear into the bathroom. Fitz made quick work of cleaning up and changing, leaving his scruffy face alone. He could deal with that in the morning rather than dig his razor out of his bags. He returned to bed to find Jemma had curled onto her side again, and carefully slid in to spoon around her back and ease an arm around her. “Is this okay, or should I move?” he asked, not wanting to make things any worse for her. 

Fitz had kept his touch gentle, but had laid his hand a little too low. Catching his wrist, Jemma tugged his arm upward a bit more, bringing it to rest just below her breasts. “That’s better,” she murmured, her voice losing some of that painful edge it had held earlier. Being caught between the electric heating pad at her front and Fitz at her back put Jemma at ease, and she found that she was actually able to entertain the thought of getting a restful night’s sleep. 

She noticed though that Fitz wasn’t as quick to relax, and Jemma cracked open a single eye and tipped her head back against his to address him. “It’s okay, Fitz, I mean it,” she whispered, her fingers threading through and tightening around his. “You’re home. You’re here now. That matters more than being there this morning.”

Jemma dragged his hand up so she could press a kiss to his knuckles, and then pressed herself against Fitz as thoroughly as she could, hoping to soak up every bit of his warmth. “If you really want to make it up to me,” she managed to tease, “You can fetch me tea and medicine when I need it, and I promise I’ll try to not take advantage of you too badly.”

He let Jemma arrange his arm, tucking the other up under his head. It took Fitz a bit of time to settle, still unhappy that Jemma had downplayed the side effects of her appointment, but her soft words did a lot to help with that. Careful not to tighten his arm - as much as he wanted to - Fitz stretched forward to press a kiss to Jemma’s cheek when she turned back. 

“I can do that,” he agreed easily. Really, he thought to himself, it was the least he could do. She’d never really been sick before, and even though he knew she’d be fine in a few days, it still shook him a bit. Part of Fitz still marveled that he’d come to care about someone this much after the way he’d shut himself off and away for years, but if he had to fall for someone, he was infinitely glad that it was Jemma Simmons. “I’m probably goin’ t’ knock out soon, but y’ can wake me up if y’ need somethin’,” he murmured, laying his head on the pillow behind hers. 

“Wait, not yet,” she pleaded. “Not before I get to give you a proper kiss.” True, it meant rearranging themselves once more, and Jemma couldn’t help the small hiss that slipped out in response to her movement, but she forced herself around so she could face him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek.. 

It was difficult to see him in the dark of his - now their - bedroom, but Jemma could easily imagine how he looked. Curls mussed from his travels, a day’s growth on his jaw, body loose and relaxed as sleep tugged at him. She knew Fitz was likely pouting at her, too; everything about their quick exchange in the few minutes he’d been home told her he was kicking himself for not being there today. Her dear, sweet man. Using her light hold on his jaw, Jemma tugged him toward her as she pressed upward, her mouth finding his unerringly. 

“Jem-” Fitz protested immediately, hearing the hiss of her indrawn breath when she moved, but Jemma was insistent, and continued shifting under his arm until she was facing him. Despite himself, Fitz tipped his head into her touch and returned Jemma’s kiss, letting her lead. Until she gently nipped his bottom lip, at least. 

Drawing back, Fitz reached up to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face and tuck it behind Jemma’s ear. “Now that’s no’ even fair. Neither of us are in any condition t’ follow up on it,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. He shifted a bit, intending to let Jemma settle against his shoulder as he ran his hand down her back, intending to rub her lower back. Instead Fitz hesitated, finally realizing what seemed odd. “Is that my shirt you’re wearin’, lass?” Jemma was wrapped into one of his button downs, and the resulting wave of tenderness made his heart trip in his chest. 

Jemma had the grace to blush and press her face into Fitz’s neck, even as she nodded. She wasn’t sure why she was embarrassed, she had always been the more readily affectionate of the two of them anyway and Fitz had already demonstrated his approval of her wearing his clothing, but the reaction was involuntary. “It is,” she confirmed, words muffled in his chest. “I missed you, when I came home from the doctor, and if you couldn’t be here… this seemed like a decent stand in.” 

Jemma lifted her chin just enough to press a kiss to Fitz’ jaw, the scent and feel of him working far more effectively to ease her pain than the medicine and applied heat, and she snuggled closer. “No more going away for months on end,” she chided, her words lacking any real censure. “Not unless you plan to take me with you. London wasn’t the same with you gone.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Fitz said softly, one hand stroking over Jemma’s hair. “I may have t’ go back t’ Germany,” he admitted, and felt Jemma tense in his arms. “Shh. It willna be for months this time. A couple of weeks at most, an’ only if they run into problems while they’re testin’ the new planes. That willna be until after New Year’s, so y’ have at least three weeks with me before tha’ might be a thing.” 

He ran his hand down her spine until he found the tail of his shirt, sliding under it until he could splay his hand over her lower back, a gentle press of warm skin, and rubbed gently. Fitz was still displeased that Jemma hadn’t mentioned there was a potential for this much discomfort - he’d have asked her to wait until he could definitely be there with her. “How did y’ even get home, feelin’ like this? Please tell me y’ took a cab.” 

“Pain killers and then a cab,” Jemma retorted, voice lazy as she relaxed against him once more. His hands really were magic, she thought, amazed at the ease with which he was able to dull her pain with a few simple swipes of his fingertips. He made one particularly low pass, fingers brushing just against the elastic band of her knickers, and she felt a new, far less painful, kind of heat bloom in her belly. Suddenly, that one week hold on any sexual activity that her doctor had ordered seemed highly unfair. 

Forcing her mind away from that path, knowing it held nothing but frustration (at least for the next six days and counting), Jemma forced her eyes open and met Fitz’ gaze. The blue of his irises was dark, nearly navy, in the half light, and she quirked a brow at him. He had questions, if she knew him, but was holding back. “Ask, love,” she gently encouraged. “I can practically feel your brain working. What else do you want to know?”

One of Fitz’ most endearing qualities, as far as Jemma was concerned, was his over protective nature, but she didn’t want him spinning himself in circles, either. Better to field his questions now and put him at ease than to let them fester too long. 

“No, is nothin’. I just wish I’d been here sooner, tha’s all,” Fitz replied, his voice low. “I’d meant to, but things got a bit mucked up at the airfield this mornin’ with meetings an’ questions that should’ve been asked ages ago.” He dropped a kiss against Jemma’s temple and sighed, relaxing into the bed at Jemma’s answer to his other question. “I know you’ll be okay, but I dinna like seein’ y’ hurting and no’ be able t’ do anythin’ about it.” 

He chuckled softly, feeling his body drifting toward sleep. “I also happen t’ be very, very pleased t’ be back in my own bloody bed. Havin’ y’ here with me is a giant bonus, though. I thought I wouldna get t’ see y’ until tomorrow - was plannin’ on bringin’ y’ coffee like I used t’, or takin’ y’ to breakfast.” 

“Our bloody bed,” Jemma automatically corrected, eyes already shut as she burrowed her face down further against him. She wanted to be so wrapped in Fitz that by morning, neither of them would be able to move without waking the other. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed him, how needy being away from him had made her, but she didn’t care just who knew it. Feeling safe and secure wrapped in Fitz’ arms, she drifted into a dreamless sleep. 

“Our bed,” Fitz murmured, easily accepting the correction, even as it made a rush of warmth surge through him. “Cut me some slack, Jem, I still have t’ get used t’ that,” he teased. “Y’ have been here movin’ my furniture an’ all my stuff around while I was stuck out there in Germany.” Still, he settled back down when Jemma curled closer, letting the room fall into easy silence. 

When she rejoined the land of the living the next morning, Jemma was pleased to see Fitz was indeed still with her, their limbs entwined. Intending to kiss him awake, she stretched up, only to reawaken the pain that centered in her abdomen. In truth, it was much better than it’d been the previous night, but was troublesome enough that she hissed in discomfort. She’d thought she’d managed to be quiet, but Fitz’ eyelids fluttered open to reveal his sleepy, concerned gaze. 

“Good morning,” she murmured, kissing him briefly before settling back into the mattress. “I’m just a bit sore still. Would you mind handling breakfast today?”

He was half-awake, drifting, the next morning when Jemma’s little sound of pain drew his attention, and Fitz groaned at her comment about breakfast. “‘M no’ goin’ t’ cook on my first mornin’ home,” he mumbled. “Is coffee an’ sandwiches an’ pastries from tha’ place y’ like up on the Archway okay?” 

Jemma nodded her agreement, pulling the covers up over her shoulders. The coffee shop Fitz was thinking of was only a few short blocks away, and she couldn’t begrudge him not wanting to cook on his first day back. There would be plenty of other things to attend to without dirtying the kitchen with pans and dishes. 

“Cafe au lait and a croissant, please,” she requested as she reclaimed her own limbs and allowed Fitz to slip out of bed. “And maybe fruit, too, if they have it?” She felt that perhaps she was pushing her luck asking so much of him, but it was what she was craving. And Fitz had said he’d be happy to pamper her a bit. 

“Mmm, I’ll see what they have,” Fitz agreed, reluctantly drawing his limbs in and slipping out of bed. It took him a few minutes, stretching and yawning before he managed to actually get dressed to go out, and he came back into the bedroom with Jemma’s phone, setting it next to her on the bed before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Text me if y’ think of anything else y’ want while I’m out, otherwise I’ll be back in a bit.” 

He actually bundled up a bit before going out - it was both damp and cold and he had a bit of a walk to make, even cutting through the Tube station to get over to the main road. Still, Fitz didn’t really mind that much. He had offered, and there needed to be breakfast, regardless. It was for the best for both of them that he didn’t try cooking it, thought. Otherwise Jemma would likely end up having to get up anyway, to rescue whatever mess he made in the kitchen. 

It took him a bit, but he returned with coffee, a bag of croissants and other pastries, and a separate bag with fruit from another shop on the high street. And ginger biscuits, chocolate and a box of Jemma’s favorite tea. She likely had some at the flat, but he’d seen it and grabbed it too, just in case. Taking everything into the flat and then to the kitchen, Fitz put everything away but the coffees and Jemma’s croissant, and a breakfast sandwich for himself, taking the lot back in to the bedroom. 

Jemma appeared to have fallen asleep again, so he set everything on the nightstand and sat next to her, his back against the headboard. “Jem?” Fitz called softly. “Y’ awake, lass?” 

As soon as Fitz had left the flat, Jemma had rolled into his vacated spot, the still-warm sheet lulling her back into a half-doze. She stirred, however, when she felt the mattress dip beneath Fitz’ added weight, and cracked her eyes open to give him a sleepy smile. “Getting there,” she murmured, groaning and stretching before she inched herself up the mattress so she could prop herself against the headboard next to Fitz. The movement caused her to wince the tiniest bit, but the pain was minimal compared to what she’d experienced the day prior. 

Pressing a kiss to his cheek as he handed her the croissant she’d requested, Jemma whispered, “Thank you,” and tucked herself against him to enjoy her meal. 

Fitz lifted his arm to lay it around Jemma’s shoulders, encouraging her to lean in against him. Not for the first time, he marveled at the difference between now and a year ago, when he’d been so hesitant about touching her. He leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead and grabbed his own sandwich, easily managing to unwrap it and eat single-handedly. After a few minutes, seeing Jemma had finished picking through her croissant, Fitz gave her a little squeeze and held out his sandwich. “Want t’ try a bite? Y’ could probably use the protein, an’ I have your coffee over here, too, whenever y’ want it.” 

He was still feeling guilty that he’d inadvertently left her alone to deal with this alone yesterday, and had every intent of spoiling her rotten today to make up for it. 

“Maybe just the corner,” Jemma conceded, reaching out to rip off a bit of his offered sandwich. Fitz was fussing, which she found adorable, but it wasn’t terribly necessary. The cramps weren’t as bad as they’d been the day before, but she knew he would be hovering today. He was always protective when it came to her, something Jemma appreciated and certainly didn’t want to discourage. 

“I’m off the next few days,” she mentioned, chewing and swallowing the bit of muffin, egg, bacon, and cheese before continuing. “Can we go out this afternoon? I think I need to move. The longer I stay sitting, the worse I think it’ll be.” She watched him over the rim of her paper coffee cup, waiting to see Fitz’ reaction to her suggestion. 

His first instinct was to tell her no, absolutely not, but Fitz also knew Jemma would be grumpy, if not outright angry with him if he simply refused. Even if he had good reason to. And so he stifled that gut reaction and made a considering noise instead. “Is cold an’ still a bit icy out. An’ likely t’ rain. So let’s see how you’re feelin’ first, okay?”

Fitz glanced at the clock, noting it was mid-morning and nodded. “Is still pretty early. There’s time, if you’re up to it, t’ go out later on.” He’d make sure she was moving around the house okay first, and not pushing too hard. “You’re off work tonigh’, yeah?”

“I am,” Jemma confirmed, polishing off the last of her pastry and leaning forward to look around Fitz at her coffee. “The next three days, too. I timed my shifts so last night would have been my last of the week. I should have just booked the appointment for today.” She noticed Fitz eyeing her, his expression dangerously close to telling her I told you so, and she frowned at him a bit. Yes, she had overestimated her ability to handle the post-procedure discomfort, but she was feeling better now. She’d had cramps stronger than this. 

“You have a point about the weather,” Jemma conceded. If it was going to be gloomy and cold all day, going outside sounded less appealing. Still, she wanted to do more than lounge around all day. “Can we go out to dinner at least? Just so I can get out of the flat? I was here all day yesterday.” 

Fitz eyed her, noting the way she deflated a bit. Tightening his arm around her shoulders, he leaned in and pressed his nose into her hair, leaving a soft kiss on her forehead. “We can go t’ dinner if y’ want. I just dinna want y’ t’ overdo, that’s all,” he said quietly. “And I’ve missed y’. If I have y’ all t’ myself for a few days, I dinna much care t’ share.” 

That earned him a smile from Jemma and he returned it before taking her coffee cup and setting his sandwich aside. Sliding out of bed, he turned back to her, hands outstretched. “C’mon. I’ll feel better about letting y’ out of the house if y’ can move around a bit here without lookin’ like you’re in terrible pain like y’ did last night.” 

His words caused Jemma to smile fondly and lean into his kiss, sighing a bit as she did so. She reminded herself that while she had been going stir crazy waiting for him to come home so they could do things together again, Fitz had been dying to get back here, to his flat. She could curb her impulse to run around for him, to let him settle back in and for them get used to occupying the same space all of the time. 

She slipped out of bed after him, catching his hands in hers and stepping into him. There was still a twinge of pain in her lower back, but nothing she couldn’t shake off with a bit of moving around. “So,” she teased, taking her hands from him so she could wrap her arms about his waist, tucking in against him. “How exactly do you plan on putting me through my paces?”

Fitz let her twine her arms around him, setting both his hands at Jemma’s lower back and rubbing gently, grinning when she practically melted against him. “It’s not a question of puttin’ y’ through your paces, Jem,” he replied, blushing a bit at her insinuation. “But y’ were in bed all day yesterday, an’ in a lot o’ pain still last night. I’m sayin’ y’ shouldna just jump out o’ bed and go gallivantin’ across the city. You’re a doctor, y’ should know better. Jus’ take it easy for a couple of hours an’ we’ll see how y’ feel, okay?” 

He leaned back a little, until he could see her face. “Besides, even if y’ feel okay, why go out there when y’ can tuck in on the couch an’ let me spoil y’ for the day? I picked up ginger biscuits an’ your favorite tea while I was out, an’ chocolate.” 

“Those weren’t the kind of paces I meant, Leopold,” she admonished with a smile. “We’ve got at least a week until we get to those.” Jemma winked at him and pressed up onto her toes to kiss his cheek. When she came back down onto her heels, she caught his hands once more and tugged him along with her into the kitchen. 

“An afternoon of cuddling does sound nice,” she conceded, her words going soft when she saw all that Fitz had bought and left on the kitchen counter. For a man who had never dated anyone seriously, he certainly seemed to know how to pamper his partner. Peeking into the bags, Jemma saw her favorite tea and biscuits, and the bakery bag held several of her other favorite pastries. She reached behind her and tugged him close, wrapping his arms around her as she took it all in. “Fitz, I’m not sure I’ll ever tell you this often enough, but you are a wonderful boyfriend. In case you weren’t already aware.” 

Fitz blushed at her compliment, but let Jemma draw him in anyway. “Is no’ that big a deal,” he protested. “I didna think y’ would want t’ leave the house if y’ were still feelin’ bad, so I picked up a few extra things while I was out.” Honestly, he’d have done the same thing if they were still just friends, because it just seemed like the right thing to do. “I mean… y’ would have done the same thing if I was sick, right?” 

Actually feeling sort of embarrassed, Fitz drew away from her then, his cheeks and ears still pink as he started putting things away, noticing the additions from Jemma’s kitchen and the groceries she’d already brought in. It seemed she really had taken him at his word to make herself at home. 

Jemma pouted a bit when he withdrew, frowning at the back of his head as he began to put the few groceries away. She had really only meant to compliment him, but it had unwittingly backfired. On one of his passes between the bags and the pantry, Jemma caught his wrist and tugged him in to her, and leaned up to kiss him. 

“Yes, I would if you weren’t feeling well,” she answered, pulling away to look at him. Her hazel eyes were soft, but serious. She wanted Fitz to realize just what it meant to her that he wanted to care for her, too, instead of just being cared for. “It’s just… no one else I’ve been with would have done the same. I’m lucky to have you, is all. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, a little gruffly. Fitz left a kiss of his own on Jemma’s forehead and sighed, resisting the urge to apologize again for not being there for her. “Why don’t y’ go on and get cleaned up. You’ll likely feel better just from that,” he suggested. 

And it would give him a chance to settle for a moment and get his head back on straight. He’d become protective of her ages ago, but something about coming home and finding her like that last night flustered him. The last thing he wanted was to irritate her by being overly concerned and stifle her his first day back. 

Jemma nodded her agreement, although her concern was plain on her face. She knew Fitz as well as she knew herself, and could tell he was upset. Part of her wanted to push, wanted figure out what was bothering him, but resisted the urge. She trusted him enough now to know that Fitz would come around and tell her if and when he needed to.


	40. Chapter 40

She took his suggestion and took a long shower, making the water as hot as she could stand it to ease her achy muscles and only getting out when the water began to get chilled. Once she was dressed in a pair of jeans and one of Fitz’ jumpers, she padded out of the bedroom, sticking her head first into the kitchen, and seeing that he wasn’t there, then the sitting area. 

Jemma found her boyfriend on the sofa, the blanket she’d come to think of as hers unfolded across his lap, and two mugs of still-steaming tea on the coffee table. Feeling more like herself, Jemma pulled up a corner of the blanket and plopped onto the sofa next to him, naturally curling up against his side. “What are you in the mood for?” she asked, nodding toward the TV. 

Fitz had the remote in his hands, fidgeting with the buttons when he heard the water shut off, and a brief flash of Jemma, wrapped in a robe, moving between the bathroom and his - their - bedroom. When she reappeared again, fully dressed this time, he was relieved that she gravitated to his side without hesitation. “‘M sorry, Jem,” he said as soon as she settled in. “Y’ had me worried las’ night an’ I’m bein’ overprotective. If y’ want t’ go out - no’ just t’ dinner - we can go out.”

He glanced over at her, blue eyes a little wary. It was as if being away from her for weeks had set him back a bit, especially with her moving into his flat, making him a bit nervous and unsure of where the lines were again. All Fitz could do was be honest and let Jemma choose for herself. She was an adult and a doctor. And she knew damn well if she overdid it, he was going to fuss at her. And over her, but that was neither here nor there. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Fitz.” Her words were quiet but certain, and Jemma slipped her hand into his as she returned his gaze. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him look this serious, perhaps not since the fiasco with William, and it tugged at her heart. For all that they knew they loved each other, she still had to remind herself that they were trying to sort out how to be together. 

“I didn’t mean to worry you. And I certainly didn’t mean for you to feel guilty for not being here. That was my choice. I was impatient,” she smiled and bumped his shoulder as she spoke, hoping to get a smile out of him. “I didn’t want us to have to wait when you came home is all. Really, I’ll be okay, and we’ll play the next few days by ear. If we want to go out, we go out.” She squeezed his fingers and pressed in against his shoulder, feeling affectionate. “The important thing is that we do it together.”

“I know y’ didna mean to,” Fitz said, twining his fingers with hers. “But I came home and found y’ like that, an’, well… It stuck with me a bit this mornin’,” he admitted quietly. “Tha’s why I sent y’ off t’ take a shower. Let me sit an’ think an’ clear my head for a few minutes.” 

He tipped his head to look her over, noting her worried expression. “Is fine, lass, I mean it. If y’ want t’ go, we can go. I’ll just ask that y’ pick somewhere that has places t’ sit in case y’ need a break.” One corner of his mouth tipped up when she continued to stare at him, unsure, and reached up with his free hand to gently tap her nose. “An’ think on where y’ want t’ go to dinner, too.”

Feeling mollified, both by Fitz’ agreement to go out if she wanted and his explanation for what had darkened his mood earlier, Jemma relaxed fully, basking in the feeling of having him home. They passed most of the day on the sofa, only moving when absolutely required, and around seven o’clock when she declared that she absolutely needed to leave the flat. 

Prior to his trip to Germany, they had fallen into a pattern with how they'd spent their time. If they were feeling lazy, they tended to stay at his, cuddled in on the sofa and content to let the world go by. If they wanted something to do, they had stayed at Jemma’s, since it was in closer proximity to central London and all it had to offer. She was looking forward to exploring his neighborhood, and happily bundled herself up (jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves, per Fitz’ insistence) to so do. The walk to the string of restaurants on the fringe of the high street was just long enough to stretch their legs, and by the time they reached the tiny Spanish place that had good reviews online, both of their cheeks were rosy from the cold. 

Fitz felt better having explained his feelings to Jemma, and more relaxed, trusting that Jemma knew he was worried about her and wouldn’t push beyond her limits that day. As the hours passed by, BBC playing quietly in the background as they talked and occasionally focused on a show for a while, Fitz let himself sink back into their usual routines. While Jemma staying here was a new thing, their patterns of whiling away the time on a day off hadn’t, and by the time she pronounced it time to get up and find dinner, Fitz was lazily content to do whatever Jemma wanted. Even if it meant bundling up and making the fifteen minute walk through Highgate to the high street. 

He searched for restaurants on his phone as they walked, arguing playfully over what type of cuisine they were in the mood for, but Fitz let her pick in the end. The little Spanish place turned out to be a family owned small business, and the food was just as amazing as the reviews claimed. 

Over the next few days, Fitz let Jemma drag him to Leadenhall Market, braving the Christmastime crowds, then ice skating in Hyde Park and walking through several neighborhoods to look at the lights. It was more fun than he’d expected, but then again, he rarely didn’t have a good time when Jemma went anywhere with him. 

It also smacked him in the face during these outings that he had no idea what he was going to get Jemma for Christmas, and a bit panicked, he started wracking his brain for ideas. It wasn’t until he had a long talk with his landlord that he finally came across a good idea. She’d given him a key last year. It seemed appropriate for him to give her another one, this year. 

Jemma was experiencing a similar crisis, wondering what in the world she could get Fitz for the holiday. He was notoriously difficult to shop for, and other than finding him a few packs of his favorite ale or making him a meal (both of which she’d gladly do regardless), she was struggling to find something really worthy of gifting him. He had set the bar so high last year, with the bookshelves she’d so loved, that anything she thought of now seemed to pale in comparison. 

She did know one thing she wanted to get for them both, as trite as it might seem, and so one afternoon when Fitz was distracted, she left for work a bit early so she could make one stop. It was out of the way, but Jemma thought it would be worth it, and with a secretive smile, hid the box from La Perla in her locker at the hospital. Maybe she’d let him open that one early. 

That still didn’t solve her dilemma over what to get him, though, and as the holiday inched closer, Jemma found herself beginning to panic. It would have been easy to fall into the habit her mother so often did, merely throwing money at the gift until it went away, but for Fitz that wouldn’t do. He’d never been impressed by money, and she loved him all the more for it. He deserved something worthy of him, something thoughtful, but the more she tried to force herself into thinking of a good gift, the more daunting the task seemed. 

Fitz very quickly realized that it probably wasn’t fair to give Jemma a huge gift for Christmas. And so he had to scramble again to think of something else to give her. Something more thoughtful. As the days crept by and the holiday drew closer, the engineer still hadn’t settled on anything. He couldn’t build her something this time around since he wasn’t working at Imperial College this semester and didn’t have the larger tools at hand. 

They were curled up together in bed one morning - Fitz had just woken up, Jemma had just gotten back from her shift and crawled in with him, chilled and happy to be home - when he brought up the subject. “So, I’m a terrible boyfriend,” Fitz half-laughed at himself. “An’ hopefully you’ll forgive me.” He ducked when Jemma twisted her head around and shot him a disbelieving look. “I am! There’s hardly a week until Christmas, an’ I have no bloody idea what t’ get y’. I have a surprise for y’, but tha’ doesna really count as a proper presen’.” 

“Oh, Fitz,” she affectionately murmured, twisting around more fully in his arms to face him. He looked so put out by his inability to think of a gift, she couldn’t help the swelling of affection she felt for him. Cupping his face with one hand, Jemma stroked her thumb across his cheek and leaned up to kiss him briefly. “You are not a terrible boyfriend. Honestly. I’ve been having trouble, too.” She smiled at Fitz, who was adorably rumpled having just woken up, and snuggled closer. She thought about the one purchase she’d made with him in mind, still hidden in the hospital locker room so he wouldn’t happen across it in their flat. As much as she was looking forward to giving him that, and his reaction, she wanted to give him an actual gift. 

“I think we just set the bar too high last year,” she teased, pulled back to look at him. An idea occurred to her, but she hesitated, uncertain how Fitz would react. It felt lazy, in a way, but it was the only way to make sure they both got what they wanted without the stress of giving the perfect gift. “Would it be terrible if we became that couple that just went shopping together for each other?”

“‘M okay with tha’, sometimes,” Fitz shrugged. He was relieved that Jemma was having trouble too - it made him feel less like a failure - but he didn’t want that to become the status quo for Christmas, either. “Things have just been too weird, bein’ in Germany an’ all. Christmas just sort o’ snuck up on me, I think. No’ entirely even in the spirit, really.” Which was true, as it were. Being away for so long, coming home, Jemma moving in, and now the surprise he had for her, Fitz was distracted by all the details of living his life rather than an arbitrary holiday.

“It- it would be nice t’ no’ have t’ worry about it this year, if you’re okay with tha’,” Fitz suggested. “Besides, I think the other surprise I’m workin’ on might overshadow anythin’ else I could try t’ get for y’.” 

Jemma nodded, a pleased smile breaking across her face. She’d been so worried about getting him something good that the momentary reprieve was a relief. She caught Fitz’ “sometimes,” though, and agreed. She didn’t want to just lapse into lazy behavior. He deserved to be adored, and she wanted to do that for him. 

There was one way Jemma could deliver on that still, and she propped herself up on an elbow so she could better look at him. “I think a quiet Christmas, just us, is in order this year. We’ve had enough upheaval.” In truth, she couldn’t think of anything better for them. As much as Jemma liked going out and seeing what the world at large was up to, her favorite moments came when it was just the two of them. “You, me, dinner, and curling up on the sofa together.” Feeling pleased with her idea, she looked down at Fitz and grinned widely. “Does that sound good to you, too?”

“Wai’- Does that mean you’ll actually be home on Christmas?” Even in just the space of a year, Fitz had grown accustomed to Jemma being at work on major holidays and only getting to celebrate with her later on. He very much liked the idea of having her with him, instead of spending the time alone when it felt like everyone else in the world was happily off with family and friends. 

Fitz caught Jemma’s cheek in his palm and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, a shy little smile on his face when he drew back. “I like that idea. A lot. No’ that I usually protest gettin’ t’ spend time with y’, but… is Christmas.” It also meant he had to get quite a lot done before the holiday, without Jemma knowing, to prepare for the big surprise. Thank goodness he still had the money to do it. 

Jemma watched as what she’d said registered with Fitz, the look of unadulterated joy he wore making her feel giddy. “Yes, I’ll be home on Christmas,” she confirmed, settling in against his chest once more. She liked knowing she could make him as happy as he made her. In truth, that was a gift in and of itself. 

Fearing that she was veering dangerously close to being too sentimental, even for the Christmas Jemma turned her attention to something else that had been weighing on her mind. “I’m glad I have Christmas off, but I actually need to speak to Singh about my work schedule. He’s been giving me fewer shifts, and most of them are day hours, too.” She was hoping that it meant he’d heard from the forensics lab about moving her there, but was afraid to say as much aloud. She didn’t want to get both of their hopes up only for it to fall through. 

“Alrigh’. Hopefully he doesna turn around and make y’ work Christmas because y’ asked him for more hours,” Fitz chuckled. It would be just his luck to get his hopes up and then nothing happen. 

~*~

The next week seemed to fly by, as many things as Fitz was quietly getting done while Jemma was working. A couple of times she nearly caught him at it, and he was fairly sure she’d caught on that he was being sneaky about something, but beyond a few curious looks she hadn’t said a word. Fitz was hoping she’d just chalked it up to the holiday season, even though they’d agreed not to give each other presents this year. 

As far as he was concerned, this surprise didn’t count as a present. More… an investment. Even if it wasn’t technically one. Yet. And so on Christmas morning, there was a small black box with a simple red and green bow sitting at Jemma’s place on the table. 

In truth, Jemma had noticed Fitz’ unusual behavior, but as it had allowed her to make her own holiday preparations to surprise him, had elected to not call him on his behavior. It wasn’t as if she didn’t trust Fitz implicitly, and she knew that whatever he was doing, it wouldn’t be something that hurt her. After knowing him for more than a year, and dating him for the better part of four months, she was absolutely certain of that. 

On Christmas morning, she slipped out of bed earlier than Fitz (as usual) to begin making them breakfast, a smile on her face as she thought of the box she’d spirited out of the hospital and slipped into her bottom most drawer. If his reaction was anything like it’d been when she’d tried to surprise him in Germany, her gift would be a success. More so, even, now that they were entirely on the same page. 

But when her eyes lighted on the box, all thoughts of what she had planned for later in the day flew from her mind, and she made a beeline back for their bedroom. “Fitz!” she called in a stage whisper, practically throwing herself back into bed and up against him. “Fitz, I thought we’d agreed no presents.” In truth she wasn’t upset in the least, and it showed in her tone, as well as the way she cuddled up to him once more. 

Half awake, Fitz groaned softly at the way Jemma bounced on the bed, but he couldn’t really be upset, given the way she wriggled back in against him, lifting his arm and making herself at home. “Is no’ a present, just a surprise,” he murmured sleepily, only half-audible with the way he’d immediately buried his face in Jemma’s hair. 

“I’ll tell y’ wha’s in there, if y’ want,” he offered, tightening his arm around Jemma to encourage her to stay put, perfectly happy to have a lazy, cuddly Christmas morning. He was hoping she’d be thrilled, but part of him had considered she might not be happy that he’d made all these arrangements without consulting her. It wasn’t like him being secretive hadn’t blown up in his face in the past. But in this case, Fitz hadn’t been able to pass up his landlord’s suggestion.

“You just aren’t keen on getting out of bed yet,” she teased, nuzzling in against the crook of his neck and allowing her eyes to slip shut. There was a part of her that wanted to stay right where she was, to drift off to sleep with him once more, but her mind was too active. She had a list of things to get ready for the day, not the least of which was preparing Fitz’ own surprise. Still, she stayed there with him a few minutes longer, savoring the feeling of being pressed against him, and pressing soft kisses to his cheek whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

Eventually, though, she drew away again, slipping out of bed despite Fitz’ groan of protest. “Breakfast won’t make itself,” she reminded him, voice affectionate as she ruffled his already mussed curls. “I’ll wait for you to come out before I open it. I promise. I won’t peek.” With that, she stepped away from the bed and back into the flat to set about making their breakfast. If the smell of bacon and coffee couldn’t roust Fitz from bed, nothing else would. 

Fitz grabbed for her, clumsily, but a sleepy Fitz with his eyes still closed was no match for a wide-awake Christmas-spirited Jemma, even if he was quite interested in breakfast. He subsided, sinking back into his pillows for another twenty minutes or so until the scent of bacon lured him into the other room. After stealing a slice and burning his fingers, Fitz turned his attention to the mug of coffee Jemma had ready and waiting for him before getting out of the way, settling at the table in the other room with his coffee and laptop. 

She clearly hadn’t touched the box, as promised, and Fitz was getting nervous about it, fidgeting and hiding it by working on the laptop to keep his hands busy. Had Jemma looked though, one of his feet was still doing an idle little dance under the table and giving him away. 

After Fitz had taken his usual seat at the table, it took everything in her to keep Jemma from rushing through cooking the rest of their breakfast to see what it was he’d put in that tiny box. She had an inkling that whatever was in there had to do with what had caused him to behave so oddly over the past two weeks, and very much wanted to know what was in it… but she wanted to be patient, too. Delayed gratification had its benefits, after all. 

Once everything was finished, she plated the remaining rashers, eggs, toast, and pancakes and carried them to the table one by one. That done, she grabbed her own mug of coffee and sat at her seat. Fitz was pointedly staring at his laptop screen, although Jemma knew he wasn’t focused on the computer. She cleared her throat to get his attention, and when he glanced up at her, blue eyes amused and perhaps a little nervous, she grinned. 

“Food’s ready,” she said, stating the obvious and doing her best to ignore the box that was taking up the center of her plate. 

Fitz quirked his brow at her, knowing Jemma was deliberately baiting him now. “So I see, lass,” he said, nervous enough about the surprise now to make him a bit gruff. “I should get that off your plate, so y’ can eat.” Reaching out, he moved to snag the small box and pull it over to his side of the table, curious what she would do. “Unless y’ want t’ go ahead and open it now, I suppose.” 

She hadn’t expected the gruff response, not to what she thought of as a little bit of teasing, and gently laid her palm over his forearm. “I’d like to, if you don’t mind,” she confirmed, voice low and soft, her thumb brushing over the softer skin on the inside of his arm. “Breakfast can wait. I’d rather know what you’ve been working on these past few weeks.” 

He blinked across the table at her, blue eyes wide. “I hadna thought y’ noticed, with work an’ everythin’,” Fitz sighed. “But yeah, I’ve been workin’ on something. Which you’ll hopefully like. I dinna want y’ brassed off at me again for doin’ somethin’ behind your back.” Jemma’s fingers lingered over the box and Fitz bit his lip. “Go on, lass. Open i’, so I can explain what it’s for.” 

Curiosity piqued, with her eyes still on Fitz, Jemma reached for the box and gingerly removed the bow before slipping the top off and peering inside. She was faced with two keys on one ring, and she slowly reached in and pulled it out. She held the keys up between them and gave Fitz a quizzical look. They were different from the keys he’d given her ages ago, slightly smaller, and as far as Jemma knew, he hadn’t rekeyed the flat without telling her. 

“Fitz?” she asked, his one-syllable name asking all the questions that were running through her mind, trusting that he would know what she was wondering. 

“I went t’ talk t’ my landlord after I got back from Germany. Abou’ us makin’ changes to this flat, or maybe movin’ elsewhere,” Fitz said, starting to explain. He’d gone over there thinking it would be a simple conversation or he’d have included Jemma from the start. If the old professor had said no, he’d have let her know and started looking for another place. “As it turns out, he wanted t’ talk t’ me, too, because he decided t’ move out t’ his other place full time an’ didna want t’ be bothered with this one.” 

“Anyway, the long an’ short of it is tha’ he was goin’ t’ sell, but instead we made an agreement tha’ if we pay the mortgage every month an’ handle our own maintenance, we can move int’ the house. Those are the keys. He’s been out for a couple o’ weeks now, an’ left quite a bit o’ the furniture, but we can move our stuff over whenever we like,” Fitz sucked in air, having rushed through the last half of the explanation, and stared at Jemma, trying to read her blank expression. 

Fitz’ words came out in a rush, making it difficult for Jemma to understand what, exactly, it was he was saying, but her brain worked through it. His landlord had moved out of the house. He’d given Fitz the keys. They had come to a deal regarding the property. In short…

Fitz had bought her a house. 

Or at least had rented one for them both. The grin that broke across her face conveyed only a fraction of her elation, and before she knew what she was doing, Jemma was out of her seat, her arms around Fitz’ next and her nose buried in his curls. “You,” she began, pausing to press kisses down to his forehead, across his nose, and cheeks, “got us a house!”

But it wasn’t just the fact that it was a home he’d found for her, or that the gift was hugely expensive (which it was), rather, what it meant. This was more than a ring, more than pretty promises dressed up in jewels or precious metals, this was something tangible. Something they could build and maintain together, for each other. He’d secured their future. Bringing her hands up to cup his cheeks, Jemma gently turned him to face her, “Thank you,” she murmured, kissing his lips. “You have no idea how much this means to me, and not just because… well, because of its value.”

Jemma’s grin alone was enough to loosen the knot of nerves in his belly, but the way she darted around the table and attacked him with kisses had him grinning too. “I dinna usually put much stock in fate or any o’ that, but it just… It seemed righ’. He bought the places ages ago, before the property value skyrocketed, so his mortgage is cheap - well within what we can afford together. There’s three bedrooms - one is already set up as a library, the other as an office. An’ there’s a loft room tha’ he used as an attic an’ storage space. I mean - other than some cosmetic things, like redoin’ the tiles in one o’ the bathrooms and repaintin’ a few rooms - is perfec’.” 

Fitz slipped the keys out of her hand as she kissed him again, and Fitz turned, drawing her to stand between his knees and snugging his arms around Jemma’s waist. “I was worried y’ wouldna like tha’ I did all this without tellin’ y’. So I’m happy tha’ you’re happy.” Not for the first time, and Fitz was sure it wouldn’t be the last, he wondered where he’d be if he hadn’t met her. The time before Jemma felt blurred, less real, and more distant - and more importantly, less painful - since he’d gotten back from Germany and Fitz was infinitely grateful to her. Not just for that, but for everything else, too. 

 

Finding her a house - something far better than his little flat, something that she deserved - was the least he could do. 

Feeling warm and pleased that Fitz, Fitz who had seemed so shiftless and determined to avoid settling down, had taken this step without her prodding, Jemma cradled his head against her breast and held him close. Since Germany, they had both said that they were determined to make this work, but until this morning, it had seemed more like pleasant, eventual outcome, not anything this tangible. 

She pulled away gently, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips as she did so, still wearing a dazed, happy grin and scratched her fingers against his scalp once more. “Let’s eat,” she whispered to him, nodding toward the table. “Before it gets cold. We can talk about our moving plans over breakfast.” 

He relaxed more at the rub of Jemma’s fingers at his scalp, but then again, Fitz was rather like a puppy that way. Jemma playing with his hair resulted in that Pavlovian response nowadays, and he hoped that she hadn’t really noticed. “Alrigh’ then,” he agreed, slipping the keys into his pocket and focusing on breakfast. 

After though, he dangled the keys in midair. “We can go look, if y’ want,” Fitz offered, and Jemma’s face lit up. Once they’d both changed clothes, they wandered down the lane, around the house to the front door. Fitz gave the keys back to Jemma then, letting her go in first. The floors were all warm woods, walls painted a blank, neutral off-white. Fitz had already patched up and repainted the places where the professor had taken down his old artwork. 

Other than the furniture the professor had left behind, it was empty and open, full of possibility. “Go on, look around. I’ve been in an’ out o’ here all year, doin’ maintenance, I know wha’ it looks like.” Fitz just hadn’t realized that the other work the old man had done - like modernizing the kitchen, which he’d had contractors in to do - had been in preparation for selling. 

Jemma paused just long enough to give Fitz a quick kiss before she gave a little shout of excitement before rushing through the rooms, taking it all in. As she went from the sitting room to the dining room and the kitchen and attached breakfast area, she could see the space filled with their things. Their furniture and books and knickknacks, mementos from trips and pictures she’d have to bully him into taking with her. She flashed Fitz a quick smile before pounding up the stairs to look at the first floor. 

The three bedrooms were far more spacious than she’d expected, and by the time she came back down, she was already full of ideas for how they could make it theirs. She found him in the kitchen, looking out the window to the back garden, and sidling up to his side, slipped her hand into his and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“It’s beautiful, Fitz. Even better, it’s ours… well, kind of ours. It will be once we move in and make the changes we want.” 

“Loads better than my little place,” Fitz admitted. “Especially since he left so much here. He’s got a whole houseful at the other place - he’ll never miss any of it.” He’d been out there once, too, when the professor was having a bit of wiring trouble in his kitchen. The house was almost painfully British. Persian rugs everywhere, clashing patterns, overflowing with knick-knacks and doilies. The older man’s wife had died years ago, and he’d simply kept most things as they’d been. 

Fitz had found the whole thing far too cluttered and fussy, but it wasn’t his home and not his place to comment on whether he thought it pleasant or not. Now, with this house, he thought with a few additions to their own possessions, it’d be quite comfortable for the two of them. He snugged his fingers around Jemma’s and nodded, “We’ll have t’ make a list o’ what we want t’ get. I’m expectin’ a check from the Germans for the initial project phase, an’ I’ve got some left from the initial grant, bu’ I dinna want t’ cut into that too much until I know wha’s happenin’ next with them.” 

He didn’t want to get into a financial mess and leave Jemma with the responsibility for all the bills until he got it straightened out. 

Using her hold on his hand, Jemma tugged, turning Fitz toward her so she could look him in the eye. For every ounce of excitement she felt, she swore she could see his apprehension growing as he tallied costs in his head and tried to find a way for them to take on the improvement projects they found most pressing. 

“Hey,” she whispered, stepping into him and nuzzling against his jaw. “We can take our time with that. In the meantime, we can do small things. A different coat of paint, new window treatments, throw rugs… nothing that will put us in debt.” Jemma pulled away again and gave him a small smile. “I plan on keeping you for a good long while, certainly long enough for us to do everything at our own pace. We’ll get this place to where we want it. Eventually.” 

“Like I said - we’ll make a list,” Fitz repeated. “Is no’ that I object t’ workin’ on the house, only that we plan properly instead o’ gettin’ too far ahead of ourselves.” If he ended up having the money to do all the things Jemma was suggesting, the professor likely wouldn’t object, as long as they didn’t start knocking out walls or doing anything else especially drastic. 

They walked through the house again, together this time, really considering what they wanted, and Fitz found he liked some of Jemma’s ideas better than his own. The reverse seemed to be true on other things, and the tension leaked out of Fitz’ shoulders when it became apparent their ideas weren’t as extravagant as they’d seemed at first mention. 

Eventually they returned to Fitz’ little flat out back and he stretched out across one half of the big sectional, arms crossed under his head and staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “You’ll have t’ let me know when y’ want t’ start movin’ things, lass. Since I’m no’ workin’, I can probably get a lot done while you’re at work.” 

Jemma leaned against the wall, eyes scanning over him as he reclined on the sofa, a small smile playing over her lips. “I think we should come up with a list of what we’d like to change first, the small things. I mean, it’ll be easier to paint and whatnot with us not living in the house. Once that’s settled, we can move things in, bit by bit.”

She had wandered closer as she spoke, and perched herself next to Fitz’ hip on the plush cushion. “Singh gave me some news,” she murmured, her hand slipping over his stomach, distracted by the soft cotton of his shirt as she spoke. “They’ll be moving me to the forensics laboratory in the next month. If we waited until after that, we could work out something so I could be around more to help you move things.” 

“Jem, tha’s great news!” Fitz’ relaxed expression shifted, showing his excitement and happiness for her as he sat up and caught Jemma’s hand. “Why didn’t y’ say anythin’ before? We should have celebrated - you’ve wanted this for ages. An’ dinna worry about helpin’ much with the movin’. I’ll be here an’ bored, anyway. It’ll do me good t’ do some physical labor.” Which was the truth. If Jemma gave him some direction on where she wanted things, he could do most of the heavy lifting. 

He let himself fall back onto the couch, giving Jemma’s hand a tug as he went, encouraging her to lie down with him and simply relax for a little while. It was Christmas, they’d agreed to have a quiet day together and Fitz wanted to take advantage of that. 

“Didn’t want to get hopes up,” she replied, easily relaxing against Fitz’s chest. “Yours or mine.” Reaching across him, she tugged the blanket he kept there over them both and settled herself once more. This was what she wanted to do for the holiday, lay curled up with Fitz, talking and dozing, at least until she had to get up and get started on their small Christmas dinner. “There was nothing certain until recently, and I didn’t want us to be let down if it didn’t pan out. Besides, we can still celebrate. We’ll just do something once I’ve officially transitioned.”

Contorting herself so she was left to half-lay over Fitz, Jemma propped her chin on his chest and gave him a pleading look. “Say that French place we passed the other night?” She’d been dying to try it out, but without a good reason, hadn’t been able to justify the cost. Now, though, perhaps they could go without her worrying about spending too much of their hard earned money. 

“Sure, if tha’s what y’ want,” Fitz said easily, shifting slightly beneath her to make a bit more room. Neither of them were large people, so it wasn’t terribly cramped, but he didn’t want Jemma falling off the edge of the couch, either. He helped resettle the blanket so she was covered properly and then drew her close again. “Just let me know when, an’ I’ll make sure I have that evenin’ clear.” 

He hesitated then, debating telling her what was going through his head. It wasn’t that it was anything bad, but it was somewhat philosophical and Fitz was always a bit awkward going down that path. Still, he thought Jemma might appreciate it. “Y’ ever get the feelin’ that somehow, some way, this was how we were always supposed t’ end up? I didna want t’ say anythin’, in case I jinxed it, bu’... all these li’l pieces of our lives keep fallin’ into place like is where they were meant t’ be.” 

Fitz sighed softly and ran his fingers over Jemma’s hair, straightening the flyaway bits around her face. It had only been a bit over a year but he couldn’t imagine his life without her anymore. 

After a year of knowing each other, of going from being friends to ambiguity to finally being together, Jemma had come to think that Fitz couldn’t really surprise her. Until he said things like that, implying that the universe had come up with some grand scheme for them to come together, and completely knocked her on her arse. Not that the idea was that shocking, Jemma had often thought the same thing, but to hear him say it was a shock to her system on some level. True, Fitz had said sweet things to her in the past, but she was far more used to him demonstrating his affection than giving voice to it. 

She leaned into his touch, eyes briefly slipping shut as she enjoyed the simple pleasure of his fingers combing through her hair, before answering. “I do, sometimes, yeah. Like, in a thousand other worlds or timelines or whatnot, we’d find each other somehow.” She turned her head and, pressing a kiss to his palm, continued, “That I’d love you, no matter the situation.”

As she spoke, Jemma was certain that she had never uttered truer words. It had been true before their relationship had taken on romantic overtones, and God forbid anything happen to their relationship, but it would hold true after as well. She loved him entirely, and trusted that he loved her in the same way, too. “It’s you and me, Leo. Simple as that.” 

And that, right there, was a perfect example of why he loved Jemma Simmons. He was never good at expressing himself, especially when it came to emotional topics, but she always understood. And almost always knew just the right thing to say to him in reply, without making him feel silly or awkward as he so often did with other people. 

Fitz gave Jemma a little smile when she nuzzled into his touch, letting his thumb rub over her cheekbone affectionately before returning to the slow strokes through her hair. She rarely called him Leo, unless she was full-naming him for some reason - usually exasperation - and hearing it now in that soft and sweet tone melted him a bit. “It scares me a bit, now and then, t’ imagine how things would be if I didna have y’ around anymore for some reason. So I try not t’ think about it,” he admitted, hugging her a little closer, like saying the words might conjure something that would steal Jemma away from him. 

Scooting up his side so she could look him in the eye, Jemma whispered, “That way lies madness. I will always be with you. Doesn’t mean it’ll be easy, but as long as we talk to each other, as long as we’re open, nothing that’s within my control will take me from you. I promise.”

She leaned in then and slanted her mouth across Fitz’, soft but certain, smiling all the while. Eventually, Jemma lost track of time, trading kisses and laughter and stories with her boyfriend as they snuggled on the couch on Christmas morning, feeling warm and happy. Christmas in her family home had always been picture perfect, the tree and the perfectly wrapped gifts and the beautiful brunch set out, and while she and her sisters had had their fun, spending it this way with Fitz just felt more right.


	41. Chapter 41

However, Fitz being Fitz, his stomach eventually began to grumble, and so Jemma hoisted herself off the sofa and wandered into the kitchen so she could begin making dinner. It would be a simple enough meal for just the two of them, some chicken and ham, potatoes, green beans (complete with crumbled bacon, per Fitz’ request), rolls, and for dessert, a traditional figgy pudding. It was more than their usual meal, true, but it was a holiday, and the leftovers would keep long enough to feed them for a few extra days. 

Fitz had tailed her into the kitchen shortly after she got up, and Jemma quickly put him to work peeling potatoes while she got everything else going. She was positive her mother would be horrified to see her eldest daughter up to her elbows in kitchen work, but Jemma had always liked cooking, and cooking with Fitz was more fun than cooking on her own. Feeling buoyed by holiday spirit, she checked on the meat and then turned to begin preparing the figgy pudding.

He would have been more than content to stay there, curled up with Jemma for the duration of the day, but then, Fitz was happy to do that most days. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of having her close, basking in the intimacy of their relationship. Of course, his never ending appetite put an end to that - even though he protested when Jemma vacated the couch and then hauled him up after her, she was adamant about feeding him. Once the meats were in the oven and everything else had been prepped for their turn to be cooked, Fitz glanced at the bag of figs Jemma had procured. He’d never been a huge fan of figgy pudding, or most puddings for that matter, despite his love of sweets. 

“Hey, Jem?” he called, distracting her from her task. “What else could y’ make for dessert besides tha’? I didna think t’ warn y’ I dinna like figs. I’ll run up t’ the high street an’ pick up extra ingredients for whatever, if y’ dinna mind.”

Jemma’s initial reaction to his question was to panic. She was a planner, to say the least, and what she’d planned on was figgy pudding for dessert. Now, the few shops that were still open on Christmas would be flooded with customers, and the goods left would be picked over, at best. Working quickly, her mind turned over what else she could make on the fly that they’d both enjoy, even as a new idea began to sprout. If she did this right, she might be able to pull off not only a dessert change, but give Fitz something he might find even more appealing than food. 

“Um…” she mumbled, playing for time. “Apple pie is quick enough, I suppose.” She tried her hands on a free tea towel, and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen so she could scrawl out the ingredients she’d need. “If you wouldn’t mind going to the store for these things, I can manage it without too much trouble. Just check for frozen pie crust, not the shells, the roll out, and make sure the apples aren’t too bruised. I expect they’ll be fairly well picked over, but we can make do.” 

Fitz grinned at her as he took the list, and leaned in to leave a peck on her cheek. “Alrigh’, I can do that,” he agreed, glancing over the list she’d given him, “It shouldna take me too long.” He vanished into the bedroom to change clothes and get his boots on, stopping back into the kitchen for a longer kiss before he went out into the cold and trudged up to the Highgate high street. 

It took him two stops, but he got everything from the list, cutting through the Underground station to get back to his flat. By the time he was kicking the slush off his feet at the door, more than an hour had passed. His brows furrowed as he shut the door and peeled out of his gear. The flat smelled delicious, the scents of ham and bacon and something spicy drifting through the air, but it was quiet. Almost empty, even. 

Worried, Fitz hurriedly toed off his boots, and peered around the living room as though Jemma might suddenly appear in front of him. “Jemma? I’m back, lass. Where did y’ go?” 

It had been halfway through making the grocery list for Fitz that the idea had occurred to her that perhaps she could surprise him with his gift now instead of making them both wait until after dinner, and as soon as he’d slipped out the door, she’d rushed through the rest of their dinner preparations. Once she was certain that everything would stay warm without drying out or burning, she hurried into the bathroom. 

A quick shower later, she was twisting her hair up into a loose, messy bun, applying the barest hint of makeup, and carefully tugging the crimson lace bra-and-knicker set into place on her frame. The trip to La Perla had been worth every bit of her paycheck she’d spent there, and the lingerie flattered what she, and hopefully Fitz, thought of as her best assets. 

She was just adjusting the straps of her bra and making sure the band of her knickers laid flat when she heard his key in the lock, and Jemma had just enough time to step into the stilettos she’d set aside for just this purpose. Giving herself a once over, Jemma took a deep breath and peeked her head around the door. 

“Back here,” she called softly, stepping fully into the meager light that filtered across the threshold to their bedroom so he could see her when he turned. Fighting to keep herself where Fitz could see her, Jemma bit her lip and clenched her fingers around the doorframe, waiting for his reaction. 

Her tone alone let Fitz know something was up, but the last thing he was expecting was to see a nearly-nude Jemma framed in the bedroom doorway. After Germany, they hadn’t exactly avoided the subject of sex, but they’d both been careful about bringing it up, as if they were both scared to shift the unsteady new balance between them by attempting it again. There had been some flirting and a bit of heated making out, complete with wandering hands, but nothing beyond that since his return. 

And even as sexually frustrated as he was, Fitz wasn’t willing to risk their relationship by pushing before Jemma was ready. It wasn’t that he thought she didn’t want sex - he’d gotten past that illusion back in October - but that Fitz wasn’t convinced she was past worrying about everything else that had come up then, about him, about her relationship with her parents and the things Vivian had suggested about Fitz. That was the only reason he’d let it go. Well, that, and that Jemma seemed perfectly okay with giving their relationship time to settle again once he’d gotten back and adjusted to living together. 

It seemed Jemma was ready now, and Fitz stood there staring in awe with his jaw working soundlessly for a good minute, blue eyes slowly drifting down to her feet and back up. It wasn’t until he reached her hands again and saw how they’d clenched around the doorframe that his gaze flew back to Jemma’s face. The tautness of nerves had stilled her features and Fitz hurried forward to reassure her. Invading Jemma’s personal space, Fitz backed her gently against the doorframe, one hand curled warm around the back of her neck, the other at her hip. 

“You’re gorgeous, baby girl,” he whispered against her mouth, leaving soft kisses there. 

Jemma had known she’d been tightly strung, worried that surprising him like this wouldn’t go over well, but she hadn’t realized just how tightly strung she’d been until Fitz got his hands and mouth on her. Relief bloomed in her belly, warmly spreading wide to her fingers and toes as she wound her arms about his neck, trading kisses all the while. 

She shivered when she felt Fitz’ calloused fingertips skim over her bare sides, and pressed herself against him in response. She’d wanted him, all of him, terribly for quite a while now, but with the way things had played out in Germany, and waiting for her body to adjust to having the IUD, had put a bit of a damper on things. Still, she’d been thinking about it, wondering and fantasizing how it would play out between them. Before they’d gotten into the spat in his office, they’d both been eager, and she had used the experience to fuel her speculation. 

“I want to take this step with you,” she murmured after he’d broken the kiss, leaning in so she could kiss along his stubble-covered jaw and down his neck. “You have no idea how badly.” 

Fitz bit at his lip. He’d been thinking about this a lot, wondering when things would eventually progress between them again, waiting on her to give him a clear sign. Relying on Jemma to make a reasoned decision when he’d already gotten her worked up with hands and mouth when they were curled up together in bed hadn’t seemed fair, especially when she’d still been recovering from the IUD. It had only been a little more than two weeks after all, and Fitz hadn’t asked about it much, trusting Jemma to say. 

Here, now, with her obviously looking to tempt him, Fitz relaxed into her hold as much as she’d melted under his touch. Drawing back, he eyed her again, fingers just barely touching her skin as he traced down Jemma’s bra strap and then the cup, skimming the edge between silk and silky skin. A little grin tugged at the edges of his lips, and his expression was a bit mischievous when his blue eyes met her hazel ones. “Red, lass? Needed a bit of Gryffindor courage, hm?”

Jemma chuckled softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she brushed the tip of her nose against his. With anyone else, she might have been offended by the statement, not to mention the assumption that she’d needed courage to take this step. But with Fitz, she was amused, as well as beyond pleased. It was a private joke, not a judgment, and it was a mark of just how free she felt to be herself when he was around. 

“Maybe,” she murmured, leaning in as though she were about to kiss him, but ducking out of the way just before their lips would have touched. She nipped at his ear lobe instead, soothing the little sting with her tongue, then whispering, “Or maybe I just thought I look phenomenal in scarlet.” 

That got a genuine laugh out of him, dropping his head to lean against her shoulder for a moment as his shoulders shook. “Chris’, lass. Y’ look amazin’ no matter which color y’ wear. Or dinna wear, as it may be,” he added, lifting his head and motioning toward the lingerie. “Although, I do have t’ say, I like this. A lo’.” Jemma didn’t often go for overtly sexy attire, preferring the sort of things that let the imagination take over at a certain point. Just as it had in Germany, the sight of her in little more than scraps of silk and lace, knowing only he was privileged to see such things, humbled and aroused him all at the same time. 

Part of him rather desperately wanted to make up for that scene in the warehouse, their headlong rush into what likely would have been rather wild sex disrupted by Fitz’ need for a condom. This was too much like that day, with Jemma quietly surprising him with lingerie and revealing herself to him - it couldn’t be a coincidence. The next time he caught her lips, it was hot, possessive, and followed immediately by Fitz pressing her back against the doorframe. 

He still had his share of concerns about the physical act of sex with Jemma, but Fitz knew for certain now that he knew how to turn her on, and how to get her off - or at least, one way to do so. He could figure out the rest, but the only way to do that was to try it and experiment with what worked best for both of them. And this was his chance. Fitz’ mouth worked over hers, his fingers at her hips again, arms trapping her there until he was damned well ready to let her go. He’d done his research. The more turned on Jemma was, the better the odds he could make her happy. 

The speed with which Fitz shifted gears astounded her, left her breathless as she tried to get her bearings. In the space of a few seconds, he went from joking and gentle to wanting and needy, leaving her aware only of the sharpness of the wood where it pressed against her spine, the heat of his hands on her hips, and his teeth as they scraped over her bottom lip. Sucking in a sharp breath at the feeling, she wound her arms about him, threading her fingers through his hair in an attempt to keep him in place. 

Not that his going anywhere was a problem, if the erection pressing against her lower stomach was any sort of indication. Jemma moaned rather indecently into his mouth, overcome by the desire to get her hands on him, and pleased with her decision to wear the heels. She had debated on them, but given the obvious advantages provided by being of a height with Fitz, she made a mental note to keep wearing them as often as she could. 

Jemma did her best to match Fitz kiss for kiss, the pair taking turns nibbling and licking, kissing exposed flesh and delighting in the moans they could elicit. She was at a distinct disadvantage, though, and when she became frustrated enough, took her hands from his curls to tangle in his shirt. Her fingers found the hem, and curling in the soft cotton fabric, Jemma began to lift it upward. “Off, please,” she mumbled, pouting even as she ducked to give his neck the attention it was due. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

Fitz’ neck and ears had always been terribly sensitive, and now was no different. Perhaps even more so, given it was Jemma and they were finally in a place where there would be no further interruptions or things to get in the way of finally properly consummating their relationship. He was ready to go almost immediately, and from Jemma’s reactions she might well have been too. They’d had months of foreplay leading up to this, after all, but he was determined to do it right. 

Drawing back from her, Fitz hooked his fingers in the collar of his shirt and tugged it up over his head, leaving his lean, lightly muscled frame open for her to explore. His belt and jeans followed shortly thereafter, leaving him in just his pants once he kicked them away. He never had been able to resist that pout when Jemma chose to turn it on him. This time when Fitz set his mouth on her, he avoided her lips entirely, going straight for Jemma’s neck and collarbone, seeking out her breasts with both hands and carefully teasing her. 

By the time he’d kissed and licked and teased his way down Jemma’s body, she was trembling in his hold, whimpering softly at each newly sensitive place he found on her skin. After some time, Fitz found himself settled on his knees between hers, nuzzling against the thin silk of Jemma’s new knickers.

She’d had a moment or two to appreciate his semi-nude form, eyes raking over lean muscle and broad shoulders, before skimming lower. The anticipation while she’d been getting ready had been enough to set her body tingling, but seeing that Fitz was just as aroused as she was enough to set Jemma over the edge of needy and well into desperate. She made an effort to get her hands on him, but when it was clear that he had other ideas, she sat back and let Fitz set his mouth to her, knowing that a man who never did things by halves wouldn’t leave her disappointed. 

Jemma had been right, and by the time he’d nudged her thighs apart to give himself room, she had thoroughly soaked her new knickers. The heat of his breath as he nuzzled against her sent another wave of arousal through her, leaving her thighs quivering and the muscles of her abdomen twitching involuntarily. Ever observant, and ever a tease, Fitz did it again, drawing a low moan from Jemma and causing her to wind her fingers through his curls. 

Whether to hold him near or keep him from going further, though, she wasn’t quite sure. Jemma had no doubt that, with as quick a study as he’d been with his hands, not to mention his enthusiasm, Fitz would be rather adept with his tongue, and the idea of him bringing her to orgasm that way made her knees positively weak. But, there were straight men who found the idea of cunnilingus less than appealing. What if for Fitz it was a total turn off? What if this would just put them another step back instead of forward? She wasn’t sure she could handle it if that were the case. 

“You- you don’t have to, um, do that, you know. Not if, that is not if you don’t really want- I mean, I don’t expect-”

Fitz lifted his eyes toward Jemma, looking up the length of her body between her breasts and lifted an eyebrow questioningly. “Jemma. How am I ever goin’ t’ know if I’ll like doin’ somethin’ if I never try, hm?” His breath washed against the damp silk and he caught her shiver again, the long muscle of Jemma’s thigh shivering where it rested against his shoulder. Contrary to his original intent, Fitz pushed back up to his feet, curling his fingers over Jemma’s shoulders and then down to find her hands. 

“C’mere,” he said, coaxing her away from the doorframe and further into his room, shuffling backward toward the bed Fitz knew was somewhere behind him. When the edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees, Fitz grinned at Jemma, grabbed her around the waist and spun, playfully tossing her onto it and crawling after her. He’d actually done a bit of research and the idea of sex with Jemma didn’t scare him anymore, only that he wouldn’t know how to please her. Even that Fitz was coming to terms with, though. He accepted that Jemma loved him and that she’d give him time to figure it out, and that was infinitely reassuring. 

He caught the thin lace bands over Jemma’s hips and cocked his head, questioning. “Can I take these off, lass?” 

Jemma nodded, not trusting her voice, and lifted her hips for Fitz, making it easier to tug the ruined knickers off and over her legs. Once he’d gotten them past her feet, slipping her heels off along with the scrap of satin and lace, she watched as Fitz cast them over the side of the bed and knelt, expectant, before her on the mattress. 

Without acting consciously, she’d brought her knees together. She wasn’t sure why she was nervous about exposing herself to him, other than Fitz mattering more than anyone else ever had. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen parts of her, or hadn’t ever had his hands between her thighs, but this all felt so different to Jemma. Momentous. There’d be no turning back from this, an idea she found simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. 

She knew, staring into those stunningly sapphire eyes of his that she was very likely looking at the rest of her life, if she were lucky. She wanted that, a lifetime of Fitz, more than anything, and so, with one last deep breath, Jemma reclined against the pillows and parted her knees, exposing herself to him fully. 

Fitz curled his hand around Jemma’s calf when she shied away, fingers stroking the back of her leg, but she relaxed again almost as soon as he’d done so. He couldn’t - and wouldn’t - blame her for having her own share of nerves about this. He left a kiss on her knee before settling there between her thighs, looking over the parts of Jemma that were still a pretty big mystery to him. “Hopefully y’ will forgive me if I’m terrible a’ this,” he said, looking rather boyish and a bit shy as he reached to trace his fingers lightly over her. 

She was already soaked, which Fitz had known, but it was still a bit gratifying to feel the evidence of Jemma’s desire against his fingers as he slipped them between her folds. Exploring again much as he’d done that night in Jemma’s bath, Fitz took the time to learn her all over again, stroking and teasing until she laughingly swore at him, and he leaned down to swipe his tongue against her for the first time. She tasted a bit odd, but no more than any of his male partners had. It was just different, and certainly not enough to turn him off doing this for her. 

Slow and observant, Fitz busied his tongue with searching out the places that brought soft moans to her lips and set her body on edge. 

Jemma fisted her hands into the covers, hips shifting gently as Fitz explored her. Her initial suspicion had been right; with his attention to detail and determination to do well, he had quickly found just how to use his mouth on her, brushing over sensitive spots her own fingers had yet to discover. She shuddered when the tip of his tongue found her clit. The sensation was fleeting, but more than enough to cause her to buck her hips against Fitz. 

“There!” she gasped out, one hand releasing its hold on the comforter to find his forearm where it had twisted over her hip. “Right there, please.”

Fitz grinned against her, but went back to what he was doing before, unwilling to let Jemma push him into going faster and missing the opportunity to catalogue the things that pleased her the most. So while he repeated that particular flick of his tongue again, it probably wasn’t as often as she’d like, based on the little whimpers she made when he skimmed past her clit without paying special attention to it. 

Eventually he shifted, lifting his mouth away to look up at Jemma even as his hands lingered over her belly and thighs, soothing and teasing simultaneously. That didn’t last long though, not when Fitz could clearly hear the disappointment in the soft sound that escaped her throat. Giving in, Fitz lowered his mouth to her again and focused the attention of his tongue exactly where Jemma wanted it, licking and sucking at her clit until every breath was touched with sound and her hips were rocking gently in time with him. 

She’d been prepared to accuse him of being a tease when Fitz took his mouth from her, but his swift return to what he’d been doing knocked the very thought from Jemma’s mind. Instead, she lost herself in the feelings he was creating, the tingle that coiled low in her belly and the way each pass of his tongue over her clit caused her breathing to hitch as she tried to form the words to beg for just a bit more. Her orgasm was right there, beckoning her forward, and she just needed a slight push toward it.

“Ah-” she gasped as he sucked at her, causing her hips to lift off the bed involuntarily. “Fitz,” she tried again, swallowing and gathering as many of her wits as she could muster. “Your fingers, too, please.” Jemma knew firsthand the things his fingers could do to her, and was certain that if he were so inclined as to incorporate them here, she wouldn’t last much longer. 

He was so distracted by what he was doing - and the secondary pleasure of his own achingly aroused cock against the bed - that it took a minute for Jemma’s words to register, bringing his head up again to eye her curiously. The expression he got back from her was three parts ‘well?’ and one part ‘get on with it before I go crazy,’ and Fitz found himself grinning in reply. His research had served him well, and he was more than happy to comply with Jemma’s requests now that he was more comfortable and feeling more confident. 

“As you wish,” he murmured, leaving a kiss on her inner thigh. Gently working one finger, and then two, into her, he blew a wash of warm air over her. The resulting frustrated whine prompted Fitz to refocus on pleasing her instead of playing the little game he’d made of performing oral sex on her for the first time. Taking the knowledge he’d gained before about how to use his fingers on her and the newfound information of just what she liked him to do with his tongue, Fitz set himself to bringing Jemma to a pleasurable end. Stroking his fingers into her and back, he wrapped his lips and tongue around her clit, alternating between gentle sucking and rapid flicks of his tongue until she broke apart under his ministrations. 

Fitz’ attention left her panting and moaning where she lay, pinned between him and the mattress, his mouth and fingers and arms all serving to anchor her, lest she buck too insistently. He was patient with her, letting Jemma ride out her climax as he soothed her through it. Even once he had taken his hands and mouth from her, he peppered her hips and lower stomach with kisses and soft caresses that told of the tenderness he felt for her. 

Feeling well loved, Jemma reached down to find his shoulders and, tugging gently, encouraged him to come up the mattress to lie over her. Settling him in between her legs, she wound her arms about Fitz’ neck and pulled him to her for a series of long, tender kisses, heedless of where his mouth had just been, as her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to something resembling normal. 

Once she felt more herself, her hands wandered down his torso, fingertips skimming over the muscle she hadn’t been permitted to touch when he’d had her against the door frame. Jemma hummed in appreciation of his form, the lithe muscle and the strength she could feel in his shoulders and arms, before allowing her hands to drift lower. They found the elastic band of his pants, and she quickly slipped them beneath it, tugging down slightly in a silent question. 

Pleased with himself, and with her and her physical pleasure, Fitz was more than willing to take further direction, levering himself up and over and then down to rest his weight on her. He started to ask if he was too heavy, but Jemma twined herself around him, hands seeking, and the words flitted right out of his head. Instead, Fitz draped himself over her and laid soft, affectionate kisses where he could reach. When Jemma tugged at his boxer briefs, Fitz grinned and dropped a kiss on Jemma’s nose before shifting to sprawl on the bed next to her. 

“Is your turn, I suppose,” he chuckled. “If y’ want them off, take them off, lass.” Honestly, Jemma could do whatever she wanted to him, or ask him for anything and he’d do his best to give it to her. After all, it wasn’t as if Fitz was anywhere near innocent. Just a bit unsure about being with a woman compared to a man, which was far more familiar to him, even just anatomically. Getting a guy off was easy when you had years of experience at getting yourself off first. 

His body made him well aware of the loss of contact from his original position against the bed and then against Jemma’s warmth. Fitz had been trying his best not to masturbate as much since his return from Germany, feeling it was unfair to Jemma unless it was when she was at work or something and there was no way to ask her for assistance. And so, the idea of Jemma getting her hands or anything else on him, especially as aroused as he’d gotten from going down on her, had him tensed and ready and waiting for whatever Jemma decided to give. 

Grinning wolfishly, Jemma followed Fitz to the other half of the mattress so she could straddle him where he lay. Feeling impish, she lowered herself just enough to press against his straining erection, lifting her hips just as quickly when he let out a quiet groan and tilted his hips up against her. There was a part of Jemma that wanted to get him naked and take him then and there, to give into the frustration that had been building since their holiday in Scotland, but she resisted. There was so much more about him she wanted to learn, and wanted their first time together to be more memorable than a fast, hard fuck. 

Besides, they could always get to that later, if they wanted. 

She lowered herself slowly, giving Fitz an ample view of both her breasts and the crimson lace that adorned them, and gave him a lingering kiss. She pulled back when he tried to deepen it, gave him a smile and small shake of her head, before turning her attention to his ears and neck. Jemma carefully cataloged each of the little sounds he made as she licked, nibbled and sucked her way down to his Adam’s apple, over his pectorals and down his ribs. She took her time, sometimes venturing back up to visit a spot that had drawn a particularly appealing sound from him before venturing south once more. 

Eventually, her lips brushed the skin just above his boxers, and having grown tired of teasing them both, she slipped her fingers beneath it to drag them over his hips, taking care to gently lift the material over his straining erection. Once they had slipped down his legs and onto the floor, Jemma cast a heavy-lidded glance back up at Fitz, hoping her look adequately conveyed both the love and the lust she was feeling, and moved to run her tongue along the underside of his cock. 

Fitz drank in the sight of Jemma perched above him, eyes trailing over her curves. He only got a moment of that view before she dipped down to torment him with her mouth, teasing and taunting him with sensation at random intervals. It wasn’t until she drew his pants down that reality truly set in for Fitz, that he and Jemma were finally here, about to make love for the first time. 

Then she drew lower and used her tongue on him and Fitz found he couldn’t keep his eyes open even to watch her after that first glance from her. Fitz hated the idea of comparing Jemma to any of his past partners, but somehow it felt different, even taking the love he felt for her out of the equation. “Chris’, Jem,” he muttered, dropping his head back into the pillow, his eyes closed. His hands reached for her though, skimming over Jemma’s cheeks and into her hair. 

He was careful not to inadvertently force her to do anything, but he used his grip on Jemma’s curls to encourage her to continue doing the things he especially liked. 

His grip on her hair, gentle yet still needy and possessive by turns sent a thrill through Jemma. Fitz may not have intended to compare her to his past conquests, but it had certainly been lingering in the back of her mind. To know she could please him like this, could cause him to twitch and moan, not only made her proud, but was also an incredibly aphrodisiac for Jemma. 

She took her time, tracing each vein and ridge precisely with the tip of her tongue, leaving him slick with her saliva by the time she actually lowered her mouth over him. Jemma glanced up when Fitz muttered her name once more, and if she hadn’t been otherwise occupied, would have smiled at the sight he presented. With his head tipped back, she could see the tension in his neck as he clenched his jaw, presumably trying to hold himself back, although a few soft groans escaped his throat regardless. Seeing that sparked her competitive streak, and Jemma redoubled her efforts, wanting to see if she could draw a full-body moan from him by the time she was done. 

Having him in her mouth confirmed what she had suspected in the bath weeks ago, that Fitz was thicker than her past partners, and she realized with regret that she wouldn’t be able to take all of him, at least not tonight. Still, she did her best, lowering herself as far as she could down the shaft and flicking her tongue against him when she pulled back up. 

Fitz could only catch glimpses of Jemma, especially when she switched from teasing him to genuinely attempting to drive him out of his mind. He forced his eyes open for seconds at a time, at least until she swirled her tongue around him or used some other tactic that drew up another wave of sensation and forced his head back into the pillows. 

It was almost overwhelming, the things she was doing, combined with the knowledge that it was Jemma doing them. When the decided to use her hands too, slender fingers and soft palms curled around him and working in tandem with her mouth and tongue that Fitz shuddered beneath her, a moan drawn up from low in his belly, fingers tightening in her hair as his body bowed up from the bed. “Fuck, Jemma… Y’-” he gasped the words out, voice rasping even lower than usual. Fitz shuddered again, voice shaking a bit before he continued. 

“C’mere,” he muttered, along with another oath, trying to draw her mouth away from him and tugging a little more firmly when she resisted. “Y’ can do tha’ again later, lass, jus’ come here.” Fitz desperately wanted her close, to get his hands on her again… And to go further. They’d been circling around this so long, now that the moment was here, Fitz was eager to share this moment with her. To bury himself inside her and see what he’d been missing, how different it would be with someone he genuinely cared about and who cared for him in return. To make love to someone instead of just fucking around.


	42. Chapter 42

When she finally crawled up his body, Fitz curled his arms around her and twisted, putting them both on their sides and over. He inadvertently pushed Jemma onto her back in his enthusiasm, not paying as much attention to details as he probably should have as he kissed her rather wildly. 

The giggle that bubbled up from her throat was entirely involuntary, as Jemma was overwhelmed by his apparent zeal, though she did her best to meet him kiss for kiss. It was tricky, with both their breathing gone ragged, and she had to catch Fitz by the back of the neck to keep him in place as her tongue ventured forward to meet his, sending them both further into a frenzy. 

That didn’t last long, though, not with them both undressed and so achingly close to where they truly wanted to be. Jemma snaked a hand between them, and finding him where he twitched against her inner thigh, wrapped her fingers around him once more, stroking him slowly. She grinned when Fitz chuffed out a surprised breath against her mouth, and with a little wiggle of her hips to align them properly, set the head of his cock against her slick folds. 

Fitz sucked in a breath as the heat of her registered against his already-sensitive skin, but he had one more thing that simply had to be done before this went any further. Bringing his hands up, he fought with the clasps of Jemma’s bra for a moment before he figured out the tiny hooks and released them, drawing it away. That left them both fully nude before each other, equally vulnerable, and there was a brief moment of stillness, staring into each other’s eyes. 

It felt momentous, and really, it was. Sucking in a breath and biting his lip, Fitz wrapped his hand around Jemma’s hip, bracing the both of them as he angled his hips and eased in. It was noticeably different, although Fitz couldn’t be sure how much of that was from general physical differences between the genders and because he was feeling her without the barrier of a condom between them. Still, she was hot and slick and snug around him, and Fitz stilled when he saw her face twist slightly. 

Already swamped with emotions, including desire, the stab of worry was sharp and he stilled inside her. “Wha’s wrong, baby girl? Too fast?” He’d gone rather slowly, but perhaps that hadn’t been enough. 

“No, no, not too fast.” Jemma rushed to reassure him, bring one hand up from where she’d wrapped it around his shoulders so she could brush her fingers against his temple. Seeing Fitz’ expression darken, she realized that he didn’t believe her, and quickly leaned up to kiss him. “Really, Leo, it’s okay. It’s just been a while, is all.”

That was the truth. Jemma hadn’t been with anyone since William, and all she was feeling was the protest of muscles that had gone too long without use. She’d be all right in a moment, and didn’t want a brief burst of discomfort to dissuade Fitz from what they were doing. “I mean it,” she whispered, nuzzling against his cheek before kissing along his jaw. “Just give me a moment. I’ll be fine.” 

“Alright, then,” Fitz said, taking her at her word, “Tell me when y’ want me t’ move again.” He knew he was a bit thicker than average, but he hadn’t thought much about how that would translate for a woman. He’d had to be careful with a few prior partners because of it though, so he wasn’t entirely offended, just concerned. Fitz’ rule of life in general was to try to avoid deliberately hurting anyone. To break that now, with Jemma, in a moment of vulnerability and intimacy, was simply unacceptable. 

In reply, Jemma wrapped all four of her limbs around him and drew Fitz further inside, forcing a long, slow slide into Jemma’s body until he’d fully penetrated her. He dropped his forehead against hers, braced up on his elbows. She didn’t appear to be in pain anymore, if anything, her expression seemed rather approving, and Fitz ground in against her, testing her reaction. Men usually liked that - it hit one of their most sensitive spots, and Fitz was curious what it might do for her. 

After her initial discomfort, the slow slide and stretch of Fitz pushing into her lit all of Jemma’s nerve endings ablaze and left her with her breath caught in her throat. It was so, so good to feel him like this, hard and hot and pressed against every inch of her. Her mind went blank with an odd mix of want and love. She had had slow sex before, would have said she’d made love, too, but Fitz… With the wide, adoring way he gazed at her with more than a hint of heat behind it was something entirely new and precious. 

The little circle Fitz ground against her pressed against her clit, drawing a low, husky moan from deep in her throat. Jemma inched her knees up further, snugging her legs around him a bit more tightly, in a bid to keep him firmly seated within her, and purposely flexed around him before rolling her hips as best she could. “More, please,” she rasped out, one hand sliding up into his curls to direct him into a kiss. 

“Impatien’,” Fitz chuckled. Jemma’s obvious reaction had been even more than he’d expected, both physically and emotionally, and it made his heart swell in his chest. “I’m sort of new at this, remember?” 

He was still laughing softly when she pulled him into her kisses, Jemma directing his face where she wanted it. Most of his own attention was on his cock at the moment, not thinking as much with all his blood rushing south. Moving on instinct, Fitz withdrew and thrust again, still slow, but also testing angles and force. He was near genius after all, and physics was something he was all too familiar with. When he adjusted Jemma’s hips slightly and was rewarded with a low moan, breaking off into a whimper, Fitz returned his attention to her mouth. 

Fitz nipped gently at Jemma’s lower lip, tugging and then soothing the sting with his tongue. It was only then he complied with Jemma’s demand, giving her more. He sped up a bit, judging his pace by bodily feedback from her, until he’d found a steady stroke that sent his own arousal zinging through his body but also had Jemma making some sort of noise on every move he made. “Is no’ rocket science,” he laughed softly, rubbing his nose against hers. His tone shifted to being a little more cocky though, when Jemma let out an especially throaty moan, “An’ I’m great a’ that. I migh’ just need a bit o’ practice, if y’ dinna mind.” 

More than happy to permit her body to drift along on each wave of pleasure Fitz stoked within her, it took Jemma a moment to process what, exactly, he had whispered to her. She giggled, high and breathy, when it all finally clicked, caught in a giddy rush of emotion. She was making love to Fitz, and even more pleasing, they were able to tease each other and laugh through it. It was so much better than what she’d been hoping for, although she felt foolish for expecting anything less. He was her best friend, and Jemma should have known that there was no other option, really, than to have it be this way between them. 

“Cocky bastard,” she tossed back, voice breaking on a moan as the head of his cock brushed against her g-spot on his next pass and taking any of the heat from her admonishment. Fitz grinned down at her, clearly pleased with himself. That look ignited her competitive streak. Yes, he was clearly very, very good at reading her and puzzling out what would feel amazing, but she couldn’t let him off that easily. Before she could think too much about it, Jemma nipped at his lower lip and gave him her best seductive grin as she tightened her pelvic floor. Fitz lost his rhythm for just a moment, clearly not expecting her to retaliate in that particular manner. 

“Careful, love,” she whispered, hazel eyes holding steady on his blue. “Two can play that game.” Satisfied that she had given him sufficient warning, Jemma allowed her eyes to drift to the exposed skin of his neck, and licked her way along the sweat-slicked expanse until she found his pulse point. 

“Oh, so tha’s how it’s goin’ t’ be, hm?” Fitz couldn’t have been more relieved to find that sex with Jemma wasn’t unlike any other time it was just the two of them together. Granted, this was a much closer physical intimacy than anything else they’d shared previously, but Fitz hadn’t understood how much of the emotional intimacy would carry over. What nerves he had left dissolved and melted away, eased by the realization that the connection he shared with her was still very much present between them. 

He’d never had sex like this, to tease and laugh with his partner, to be playful and affectionate. Fitz’ history was a never ending string of casual affairs, fast and hot and over nearly as quickly as they’d begun, ending sprawled next to someone without many words between them. Sex had been easy, empty and heartless, and this couldn’t be more different. 

Picking up on Jemma’s challenge, Fitz smirked down at her. He hadn’t known women could do that, not like men could, and it threw him for just a moment, feeling the muscles of her body gripping him like that. He’d caught that there was a spot inside Jemma that made her catch her breath though and focused on finding the angle that would let him rub up against it every time he thrust into her again. When he found it, deliberately this time instead of by accident, Fitz was infinitely pleased by the shuddery little moan that bubbled out of her. “Two can definitely play tha’ game, lass. I’m no’ tha’ innocent, remember?” 

As he moved above her, it occurred to Jemma that had she realized what a bloody genius Fitz would be when it came to the geometry of sex, she might have been far more willing to give up her stance on monogamy. Although, given the way he was making her feel, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to tolerate having him only to have to share with others. Sex, or at least sex with one incredibly attractive Scottish engineer, apparently brought out her baser nature, and as Jemma drew back slightly to take in his face, a warm, lust-fueled rush of possessiveness overtook her. 

Fitz was hers, and she was his, and in that moment she honestly wanted nothing more than to rush headlong with him over the brink and see what it would bring them. Almost as if their own volition, Jemma’s hands splayed against his back, pads of her fingers pressing in against the muscle they found there, her hips canting upward, meeting him thrust for thrust. She was getting close, her orgasm coiling low in her belly as the muscles of her arms and legs quivered with the strain of maintaining that perfect angle he’d found. Without thinking, lost in the headlong rush, Jemma turned her face into Fitz’ neck only to find her nose brushing against his sternohyoid, tensed and raised beneath the tender skin with the strain of intercourse. 

Unable to help herself, she gently scraped her teeth against it, enjoying the shiver that ran through him, before following that same path with her tongue. 

Fitz was so intent on Jemma that he wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to himself and nearly slid right over the edge into his own orgasm before he caught himself. He might be new to this, with Jemma at least, but he’d be damned if he left her hanging like some untried boy - or some of her exes. Focusing hard on keeping himself from coming, Fitz clutched her closer, bracing her for each advance with the sprawl of his hands over her hips. 

If he was any judge, Jemma was close, based on the taut and trembling condition of her muscles. He wanted - needed - her to finish before him, but Fitz couldn’t be certain of his own coordination at the moment. No matter how good he was with his hands, he was only holding on by pure determination, his own body shaking in reaction, groans and other sounds spilling from his throat. And so Fitz did the only thing he could manage at that moment and sped up, taking a thrust or two to find that spot again and regain the proper angle. 

Moaning low in his throat at the continued press of Jemma’s teeth against the sensitive skin on his neck, Fitz only just managed to hold on long enough for her to shake her way apart there in his arms before he let go and came, hilting inside her. 

Long ago, when they’d first met, Fitz had teased her about her collection of romance novels, telling her that the vice would only give her unrealistic expectations of the men she dated. And, though she would never admit it to him if only to avoid his incessant teasing, Jemma had begun to think Fitz was right. She had never had anything that those pages described happen to her, and certainly never would have described her climax as leaving stars in her eyes. At least not until that afternoon. 

It hadn’t taken long after he’d found that angle again, and it took Jemma a moment to realize that the keening moan she heard had been produced by her own vocal cords. Her muscles tensed for one moment, then released as her orgasm broke over her, pulling Fitz along with her shortly after, his hips pressing persistently against hers as his body shuddered with the force of his own climax. She wrapped herself around him, positively clinging to the man above her as though she were afraid she might fall off the face of the earth if she were to let him go. 

With her mouth still pressed to the tender skin of his neck, Jemma began to place gentler, far more chaste kisses along the skin there until she worked her way to his lips. Her hands stroked up and down his back, from his shoulders down to the top of Fitz’ arse, trying to remember everything she could about this moment. The feeling of him still inside her, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress, the scent and taste of his skin… she would only get one first time with Fitz, and Jemma wanted to remember it all. 

Eventually, though, she had to let him go, her legs falling back onto the mattress as her tired muscles began protesting the exertion they had both caused them. Jemma hissed when he withdrew from her, missing the feeling of him already, but pulled him down nearly immediately so he could pillow his head on her breasts. “I love you,” she murmured, fingers carding through sweat-dampened curls. “You are, without a doubt, the best man I know and… and I just absolutely adore you.” 

The lingering doubts Fitz had about being with Jemma had just been entirely swept out of his head. He didn’t know if it was just Jemma - and had no intention of testing the idea - but he loved her and wanted her and had very much enjoyed that. For someone who’d never thought about a woman that way, always identifying as gay, and then having so much to lose if this went badly… It was more than just the soporific rush of hormones that made his muscles melt like water, leaving him draped heavily over Jemma, breathing hard. 

He also usually hated when a partner tried to cling to him after, wanting to take a moment to get his breath back and be on his way, but as always, Jemma was his exception. The slow strokes of her hands over his back were somehow soothing and a little arousing at the same time, and his own digits returned the favor, although in a much more limited fashion. Her muscles were still spasming around him now and then, in what he could only assume were aftershocks of sorts, and it was almost too much on his over-sensitive cock. 

Reluctantly pulling out of her, he followed Jemma’s silent urging and only drew back enough to lay his head on her chest. A bit more shifting had his arms snugged on either side of her, the best approximation of holding her that Fitz could manage at that moment. The quiet words that threaded into his ears along with her fingers in his hair caused a deep, heartfelt sigh. “I love y’, too, baby girl,” Fitz replied, clearing his throat twice before he managed to get the words out past the lump sitting in it. “I- You’re amazin’. I’m no’ sure I tell y’ that often enough, but y’ are.” 

Even without seeing his eyes, Jemma could hear the emotion in his voice, knew that he was feeling both elated and relieved, just as she was, and smiled at his sweat-darkened curls. “Wait, wait,” she teased, “can you say that again? I want to be sure to record it so I can play it back the next time you’re going on about the natural superiority of the Scots.” It would have been easy to become emotional, given what had transpired between them along with all of the twists and turns they’d experienced getting to this point, but Jemma didn’t want that for them. No, she wanted to tease Fitz, same as she always had, to be free and easy and purely herself with him. 

She contorted herself just enough to manage to kiss his forehead, and laid back against the pillows. “Seriously, though...as much as I love hearing you say that, I don’t need it. You show me every day just how much you love me. That, this, us… that’s worth more than any words, in my opinion.” 

“Hey now,” Fitz chuckled weakly. “Is apples t’ oranges. The Scots are still superior in general, but y’ happen t’ be an exceptional Brit.” His tone was just as teasing as hers had been, laced with affection and adoration, rather than the mock indignation he’d intended. Fitz simply couldn’t manage it right now, sated and feeling a bit sleepy as he lay there in Jemma’s arms. 

He shook his head at her though, when she continued, levering himself up so he could look at her skeptically. “Jem, y’ silly lass,” Fitz muttered, tipping to one side of her. He tugged her along with him though, wrapping his arms around her when Jemma shifted up onto her side. “I know y’ dinna need it. You’ve never been demandin’ like that, an’ I’m no bloody good at it anyway. But dinna tell me is no’ nice t’ near now an’ then,” he argued. “Take the compliment as it was meant. Please.” Fitz drew her in close, pressing a kiss to Jemma’s forehead and giving her an affectionate little squeeze as he relaxed back into simply cuddling and reveling in what they’d just shared. 

Jemma followed easily, bare limbs fitting easily with Fitz’ as she arranged herself across his shoulder and chest. She tilted her chin upward and kissed his cheek even as she nodded her agreement. “I know it was, love. And I will. Promise.” She beamed up at him, still nearly unbelieving of how well all of this had gone. Although, whereas Fitz seemed ready to drift off at any moment, Jemma was positively buzzing with energy. Still, the desire to give Fitz what he wanted won out, and she cuddled in against his torso, trading lazy kisses with him until his body went slack, his eyes shut and he was snoring softly. 

She lay there a few moments more, just watching him, a bit unbelieving that she, of all people, was lucky enough to have him. Even just as friends, it had amazed her at times just how lucky she was to have Fitz in her life, someone with whom she had so much in common and genuinely enjoyed spending time with as often as they did. Now, to have him as a lover… it seemed too spectacularly good to be true, and she wanted some time to just soak it in. 

Eventually, though, her brain reminded her that she had a meal to finish preparing. She had managed to put everything on hold when Fitz had stepped out, and while she was sure there was no permanent damage to any of the food, she wanted to be sure she finished preparing their Christmas dinner before she fell prey to further distractions. A fond smile played across her lips as she slipped off the mattress and watched as the wiry Scot shifted into the warm spot she’d left in the bedding. She had a feeling that even if they only wound up eating what she’d made as leftovers over the course of the week, she wouldn’t mind. Jemma spared him one final, fond glance before finding one of his looser jumpers to tug over her nude figure, and padded quietly into the kitchen to finish her work. 

Fitz had drifted off, but he was only dozing, and it didn’t take more than a few minutes for it to register that there was a warm woman missing from their bed. He sleepily reached for Jemma, patting the bed and cracking his eyes open only to find her gone. Huffing out a breath, he heard movement from the other room and lazily hauled himself out of the bed to find a pair of pajama pants. 

Shirtless, the pants hanging loosely around his hips, Fitz padded into the other room to find Jemma in the kitchen, watching over their Christmas dinner. She must have done something to keep the food fresh, because what he could see looked amazing and the smells wafting off the pans was even better. Sidling up behind her, Fitz curled his arms loosely around her waist. “Couldn’ that wait?” he asked plaintively, pouting a little as he leaned down the few inches to set his chin on her shoulder and tip his head against hers.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t think there’d be other opportunities for post-coital snuggling. Fitz was certain at this point that neither of them were willing to let their relationship go easily, especially now, with the confirmation of their sexual compatibility. If she was thinking anything even close to what he was thinking, they’d be making up for lost time soon enough. But, Fitz had thought that this first time there’d be more to it than Jemma slipping away from him the moment he dozed off, even if it was Christmas. Dinner could always be late. 

Jemma had felt the warmth radiating off him before his arms came around her waist, and grinned. She, too, had become so accustomed to sleeping next to Fitz that it didn’t take long for her to stir on the few mornings he managed to wake up before her. She should have expected that Fitz wouldn’t be far behind her. She leaned back into his embrace, relishing the opportunity to be near to him. A year ago, their friendship had been affectionate, but the physical aspect hadn’t yet been in place. Now, that same man who had so shied away from touch had twined himself around her without a second thought, and Jemma loved it. 

She paused in carving the chicken and ham to reach up and gently scratch her fingers against his scalp, her head tilting against his automatically. “Believe me, if it could have waited, I’d still be in bed. But, it was this or listen to you complain about dried out food all week as we tried to choke down the leftovers.” Jemma turned her head just enough so Fitz could see her affectionate smile, then reached out to pluck a small piece of chicken from the roasting pan, and held it up over her shoulder, just in front of his lips. “Here. Try this. Tell me what you think.”

Fitz reluctantly admitted she might be right about his grumbling over bad food, but was happy enough to lean forward and nip the bit of chicken from her fingers. The meat was tender and well-seasoned and Fitz let out a little noise as he chewed. “Mm. Tha’s really good,” he praised, peering down at everything on the stove. “Are we almost ready t’ eat, then?” 

If he couldn’t be curled into bed with her, sprawled onto the couch and sharing a meal was the next best option, Fitz supposed. Feeling content and happy and affectionate, he sighed softly and turned his face in against Jemma’s neck, his arms drawing her in a bit closer as they stood there, Fitz unconsciously rocking ever so slightly from side to side. 

As with seemingly everything else that they did, Jemma naturally fell in with him, rocking gently with Fitz as her eyes drifted shut, her body melting in against him. She was ready to forget the food entirely when the brush of his lips against her skin, and the words he mumbled, drew a soft peal of laughter from her. No one she knew could shift gears as quickly as Fitz, particularly when food was involved. 

“Nearly ready,” she answered once she was able, her eyes opening and scanning over the food before her. “I wasn’t able to do anything with the pie… If you don’t mind giving me a hand with that, we can have it thrown together and in the oven before we start eating.” 

Fitz didn't really want to let go of her, but at the same time… pie. Reluctantly pulling back from her, Fitz’ fingers lingered at her hips before eventually drawing back with a groan. “Alrigh’. I’ll peel an’ slice the apples, unless y’ want me t’ do somethin’ else?” Jemma nodded though, and he set himself to his task, turning the bag of apples into a pile of thin slices for her to set into the prepared crust. 

He bumped her playfully when he came up next to her with the bowl, giving her a little sideways grin. “Anythin’ else?” Fitz had gotten used to Jemma having very specific tasks for him when she was cooking. He was good with his hands, but there was something about cooking that continued to confound him. 

“Mmm… sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, flour… and a bit of lemon, juice, please.” Jemma watched from the corner of her eye as Fitz hurried off to get her the requested items, admiring the way his pajama bottoms were slung low on his hips. She gave him a smile as he brought her everything, and ducked under the counter to retrieve a mixing bowl. Talking them through it, they mixed the filling, layered it in the bottom of the crust, and laid the top crust over the whole thing. 

Satisfied with the job they’d done, Jemma slipped the dessert into the oven and gave a self-satisfied nod. “All right. Now, we’re ready to eat.” As long as they didn’t fall asleep on the sofa, the pie would be ready by the time they were done with their meal. Still, just to be safe, Jemma programmed the timer on the oven for 50 minutes before reaching up to fetch down a few plates. 

~*~

The rest of their Christmas was just the way they’d wanted it, the two of them curled up together and quietly sharing whatever happened to come to mind. Some of it was about the new house, some about work and other practical matters, but mostly it was rambled bits of things that they just happened to think about. And later that evening, once they’d both crawled back into bed, Fitz got his wish for Jemma to curl in and stay next to him after they had sex the second time. 

He angled for a third time early the next morning. Something had woken him well before he’d usually consider crawling out of bed. The sun wasn’t even hinted at around his dark curtains, and the clock, when he peeked at it over Jemma’s shoulder, read 6:02. Sleepy, but aroused - he was male after all - Fitz snuggled in closer to her. Pressing up against Jemma’s back and nuzzling her neck as his hand smoothed down over her bare skin to curl over her hip, he wondered if she’d let him get away with this sort of thing often. 

If he got away with it this time, he mused. 

She stirred in his arms, and he stilled, not wanting to startle her awake. 

Still half asleep, Jemma was only aware of the things her brain considered important: she felt safe, she was warm, and she had Fitz curled around her. His breath washed warmly against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine and causing her to roll her hips back with a soft whimper. The movement pressed her arse rather firmly against his morning erection, and nearly instantly, Jemma found herself awake.

She was still a bit sore, although pleasantly so, but the idea of slow, lazy, morning sex with Fitz seemed like a rather perfect way to start the day. Fumbling a moment beneath the covers, her hand found his where it rested on her hip. She laced their fingers together and gave another far more purposeful roll backwards, grinning when he stifled a moan against her shoulder. 

“Please, Leo. No teasing. Not this early in the morning.” 

The skin of Jemma’s back was almost impossibly soft, and having it stroke against his cock like that… Fitz couldn’t help the moan he muffled against her skin. Her words gave him hope though, and Fitz drew back slightly, sleepily fumbling between them to adjust himself between her thighs instead of being caught against the curve of Jemma’s arse. Not that he minded it being there, by any means, but this was much better. 

She did something - he felt her shift, but wasn’t paying close enough attention to know exactly what - that had the length of him pressed up against her. Fitz gasped sharply, suddenly more awake from the feel of her heat against him. Something wasn’t quite right though, and it only took one little involuntary thrust there between her labia to figure it out - Jemma wasn’t ready, despite her plea for him not to tease her. 

“Teasin’ is half the fun though,” Fitz mumbled against her skin, although he only had yesterday’s experience to rely on to know that. He was sure that he needed to give her a little more time, though, and suddenly wished he’d done more research. Still, this was Jemma, and he had a pretty good idea of how to handle her. Shifting behind her, Fitz wriggled the arm he was laying on under Jemma’s neck and drew her back against him, letting both his hands wander her body. His mouth caught at her earlobe, waiting for the particular catch of breath that told him he was doing something right. 

Still a little drowsy, and trusting that Fitz would know what to do now that he had her permission, Jemma allowed her eyes to slip shut as she focused on what he was doing. She couldn’t help the series of soft sighs as his lips found her ears and neck, any more than she could stop the moan that rose out of her throat when his fingers found her breasts. His touch was exceedingly gentle, barely more than a tease as his calluses whispered over the sensitive skin, just skimming across first one, then the other nipple, coaxing each to hardness.

Jemma arched her back, trying to press her breasts more fully into his hands even as she ground her arse back against him. She could feel his cock twitch where it was nestled between her thighs, and it stoked her arousal further. Catching one of Fitz’ hands with hers, she directed him lower, until his fingers were stroking over her belly and hips, drawing nearer to the juncture of her thighs with each pass. The spark he’d ignited was quickly growing, inflaming her with each careful brush of his lips against her neck, and soon Jemma found that she was impatient, wanting Fitz to touch her more directly. He seemed content to tease her, though, at least for the time being, as he learned all of her most sensitive spots, and she quickly realized she’d have to take matters into her own hands. 

Crooking her knee so she’d have enough room. Jemma slipped her own hand between her legs, and allowed her fingers to skim over the head of his cock. The angle was awkward, making it difficult to get a purchase on him, but she did what she could, delighting in the soft, eager sounds Fitz made against her back as she pressed him in further against the growing evidence of her own arousal. 

Once again it hit Fitz, both in his heart and his gut, just how different it was with Jemma than it had ever been with any of those random men. Caring for her meant more than simply sating his own desire with little concern for hers, and it pleased him immensely that just a little attention had her wanting him in return. He’d never had sex in this particular position though, and it took a bit of maneuvering on his part, especially distracted by the stroke of Jemma’s fingers from the opposite side, to make it work. 

Eventually though, he managed to line things up and Jemma pushed back eagerly until he’d slipped in as far as he could manage at this angle. Fitz didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Jemma relaxed back against him with a breathy little sound of pleasure and his exhale shuddered out. She didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry, only hugging his arms tighter around her and Fitz took those cues to heart, paying more attention to her body in general than to the slow rolls of their hips. 

Fitz nuzzled his way up to her jaw, and then lingered at the hollow just under her ear, gently scraping the skin with his teeth and grinning when she shivered. “Is this what y’ wanted?” he asked softly, the question hardly a whisper in the quiet of their room.


	43. Chapter 43

Jemma sighed, her head tipping back almost of its own volition against Fitz in an attempt to give him more room to access her neck. It was a bit difficult from this position, but she brought one of her arms back, and reaching over, managed to thread her fingers into his curls. She moaned when his fingers tweaked her nipple, although it quickly gave way to a quiet laugh when she felt his grin against her shoulder. 

“Yes, Leo, exactly what I wanted.” Her words were joyful and breathy, nearly lost in the tangle of sheets around them, but Jemma didn’t much care. The fact was, she was still reveling that it was Fitz touching her, sending arcs of heat and electric feeling through her body as they rocked together, their pace easy in the quiet, gray hours of early morning. Here and now, she couldn’t remember why she’d spent all that time fretting, worried that the man who loved her best might not be able to love her like this. 

Thankfully, she’d been wrong to worry; Fitz was as attentive to her as she’d hoped, and then some. Jemma relaxed further against him, enjoying the intimacy of the position as much as what he was making her feel. She was in no rush, and she wanted them to make the most of this opportunity to learn each other this way.

Fitz couldn’t help the grin when Jemma twined her fingers into his hair, or the swell of emotion that rose in him. He wasn’t sure if every woman was like that, and to be honest he didn’t much care - he had the one he wanted - but the way Jemma effortlessly mingled affection into their lovemaking was something he’d never imagined. 

It was no wonder that Jemma had never been able to understand how Fitz could so easily separate sex from everything else, if this was how she behaved with all her partners. Her heart was on her sleeve the whole time and it made Fitz hate William that much more. How could he have treated her so badly when Jemma was so willing to give of herself? Still, if that arse hadn’t cheated on her, Fitz might never have gotten this chance, and that he couldn’t regret. If anything it made him that much more determined to treat her well and attempt to be all the things she wanted. 

He kept his touches light, reverent and exploratory, teasing Jemma as much as he was learning her, but much like her, mostly just basking in sensation. It wasn’t that he’d never had slow sex before, but it had never been intimate and soft like this. After some time though, he wrapped his arms around her, simply hugging Jemma back against himself as Fitz closed his eyes and focused on the slow thrust of his cock, and the hot, slick heat of her wrapped around him. 

If she had any idea of what Fitz had been thinking, Jemma would have rushed to correct him. It had never been this easy for her to give of herself to other lovers, despite how much she wanted it to be, or how much she’d tried. There’d always been something missing, particularly with William, which had caused her to hold back, to hesitate when it came to flinging herself headlong over the edge into the oblivion known as love that so many other girls her age raced toward day after day. 

But Fitz, Fitz was easy for her. She knew, without a doubt that he loved her for who she was. Her parents’ money, her job title, her posh address, the openings she attended, none of that had ever mattered to him. He’d wanted to be around her for the conversation, the similar interests, the mutual respect, and it had all intensified from there. Not for the first time, Jemma found herself acknowledging that despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Fitz made her believe in soulmates, and that something had preordained them from the start. 

Flooded with unabashed affection for the man beside her, Jemma laid her arms over his and held on, almost as if she could will him to hold her tighter than he already was. She shifted her hips, too, finding an angle that caused the head of his cock to brush more firmly against her g-spot, and let out a soft moan. This was quickly becoming her favorite way to wake up, and she wondered just what she’d have to do to get Fitz to agree to do this every morning. 

Fitz thought he caught a flash of something from her, something in her body language or the little of her expression he could see, but it was gone again before he could guess what it was. And then she angled herself a little differently, changing the friction of their bodies slowly grinding together and completely distracted him. He shuddered out a soft moan, the sound muffled against her neck, and slid his mouth down to set his teeth gently into Jemma’s shoulder to brace lightly against the pleasure creeping through him. 

The slow pace made Fitz feel feverish, the heat and hormones and desire taking their time in taking over his system and tempered by the love he felt for her. It left him craving Jemma in the worst way, especially given his prior thoughts, wanting all of her, but also wanting to protect and keep her safe and happy. The way he cared for her might have been one of the purest emotions he’d ever felt, in some ways. While there were selfish aspects to it, Fitz wanted the best for Jemma, and knowing he probably wasn’t it, felt the need to be as close to it as he could. 

He clutched her closer, not that there was really any space left between them anyway, and slowly slipped one of his hands down between Jemma’s thighs. Wanting more for them both, he stroked and teased her in time with his gentle thrusts into her body. 

The press of his fingers, timed perfectly with each thrust, left Jemma feeling boneless, melted thanks to the simple pleasure of Fitz’ hands and body working in concert. She moaned, although whether out of desire from what he was doing or frustration from not being able to kiss him, she wasn’t sure. As intimate as this was, and as good as he made her feel, Jemma missed being able to see his eyes, and the adoring expression she suspected he was wearing.

Without consciously meaning to, her hips began to roll back more insistently, encouraging Fitz to speed up, and her hand slipped down to find his, fingers curling around his wrist. Jemma could feel the tension there, the tendons straining with the angle and effort. Her breath hitched with each brush of his fingertips against her clit, pushing her closer to orgasm and leaving her able to do little more than moan into the pillow beneath her cheek. 

Hesitating when Jemma caught at his wrist, Fitz’ fingers stilled for a stroke or two in case she meant to draw him away. When she pressed closer instead, her hips pushing back demandingly, he relaxed and returned to what he’d been doing. The fluttery sensation of her muscles tightening and releasing around his cock was pushing Fitz toward his own orgasm, and he didn’t want to leave her behind. 

Fitz had caught onto the way Jemma whimpered or moaned or shivered each time he managed to hit her g-spot, and the way she’d arched to let him stroke against it more easily. Curious, and fairly sure it worked the same for women as the prostate did for men, he shortened his strokes, deliberately rubbing back and forth over it rather than really thrusting. 

Even without his fingers working in tight circles against her clit, Fitz’ shorter strokes, the head of his cock brushing against her perfectly, would have been enough to send Jemma careening toward her orgasm. As it was, it was all she could do to keep her hips arched back, body trembling slightly with the effort and a light sheen of sweat breaking over her back. 

She was dimly aware that she was babbling, stringing his name and pleas for him to keep going into nonsensical strands, but she couldn’t help herself, not when she was this close to the brink. A minute more of his attentions, and Jemma found herself breaking around him, fingers digging into the tender skin of his wrist as her body went rigid against him. 

As soon as he felt Jemma fall, Fitz let himself go, his body sliding slickly into and against hers, both from Jemma’s arousal and the sweat gleaming dully on their skin in the dim morning light. A few deep thrusts, changing back to what felt best for him now that he’d pleased her, and he was over the edge too. 

Clutching Jemma close, Fitz muffled his soft, sharp groan of pleasure against the back of her shoulder as his own orgasm shook loose. Once again it was glaringly apparent to him just what he’d been missing all these years, although Fitz still thought it might just have been Jemma - that he’d never have found this particular mingling of love and lust and want and need with anyone else. Certainly not without the way their relationship had developed, slow and intimate, building trust and affection before they’d ever thought of anything else. 

Heedless of the heat radiating between them, Fitz relaxed into her, his body going limp against Jemma’s. His arms eased from the tight hold he had on her body, but only to shift into a hug, soft and affectionate as he cradled her against him. They’d been quiet through much of that, few words exchanged between them, and Fitz found he didn’t need to break the silence. Jemma likely already knew everything he’d want to say anyway. Instead, Fitz left a soft, nuzzling kiss against the deeper mark he’d left on Jemma’s shoulder earlier and settled in. 

Now, as they settled into the afterglow and the rush of hormonal pleasure leached away, Jemma became aware of the rest of her body, the happy loosening of limbs and the dull throbbing from the bruises he’d left on her hip and her shoulder. Not that she minded that particular sensation; if anything, it grounded her in the reality of the fact that she had just spent the past 18 hours entirely wrapped up in Fitz. 

The very thought made her grin, and she slowly shifted, turning in his hold so she could face him. He wore a slightly stunned look on his face, and Jemma quickly nuzzled against his cheek, wanting nothing more than to be close to him. Her lips found their way to his, finally kissing him the way she’d hoped to earlier, although this was a far more relaxed exchange, affectionate and warm. When she finally pulled back from the kiss, she gave Fitz another smile and settled in against him, one leg slipping between his, hips notched together and her head tucked beneath his chin. 

Fitz let out a small, displeased little grumble when Jemma drew away from him. Even though she returned a moment later, pressing kisses against his mouth, he’d been comfortable and sated and she’d moved. Sighing, Fitz drew her in again, sleepily drawing his mouth over hers. She seemed content to stay put this time and as comfortable with the silence as he was, and he relaxed back into his pillows. 

As the minutes ticked by, Fitz was torn between nuzzling into Jemma’s hair and letting himself drift back to sleep - or getting up and crawling into a hot shower, hopefully coaxing Jemma in with him. It took some time before his brain made its choice and he nudged Jemma, gently drawing her attention back to him. “Any chance I can convince y’ t’ take a shower with me?” His sleepy tone shifted, faintly wheedling. “Please?” 

Fitz looked so delicious, with his curls in disarray and the sleepy little pout he was giving her, Jemma couldn’t even begin to resist the urge to smile up at him. She had no problem with the idea of slipping into a shower with Fitz, but she wasn’t entirely willing to pull herself out of bed just yet. Leaning up to brush her nose against his, she gave a little shiver as the cooler air of the room his her bare shoulders, and pulled the covers up around them both. 

“I think that could be arranged. Provided you get the shower started first.” It was simply too pleasant beneath the covers to easily convince Jemma to slip from beneath them. And, the fact that Fitz slipping away first would provide her with quite the view of his arse wasn’t bad either. 

“Promise?” Fitz asked. He knew why Jemma was delaying coming with him - she was sensitive to the cold and it was chilly in his flat. The new place would be better, but they still had to move their things and the weather had been too bad to think about it just yet. 

Once he had her agreement, Fitz carefully slid out from under the covers, trying to let as little cold air in against her as he could manage. And once he was in the bathroom, he cranked the hot water up for a minute, letting it run untempered by colder water and filling the room with steam. By the time he fiddled with the faucets again, adjusting them to proper temperature, Jemma slipped into the room with him. “In y’ go, lass,” he murmured, letting her climb into the tub first. 

Unlike at her flat, when they’d shared a bath, here Fitz was far less worried about running out of hot water. He’d made adjustments to his hot water heater back when he’d moved in years ago, to ensure he could soak as long as he wanted. He stepped in after her, crowding Jemma a little further under the hot spray.

Jemma’s eyes slipped shut as the hot water beat down on her shoulders, hissing softly when it first touched on the mark he’d left. The small sting faded quickly, though, giving way to comfort as she acclimated to the steamy shower. Hearing the rattle of the shower rings as Fitz stepped in behind her and shut them away from the cold air, she reached blindly for him, swinging an arm behind her until it connected with skin. 

Realizing she’d found his wrist, she tugged gently, pulling Fitz in behind her and wrapping first one, than his other, arm around her. With a contented sigh, Jemma leaned back against him, happy to let Fitz take on a bit of her weight as they relaxed under his shower spray. 

Fitz heard the hiss, and his first thought was that he’d left the water turned up too hot for her. Instead he caught Jemma wince slightly and glance at her shoulder. The bite mark he’d accidentally left wasn’t terrible, but it was red and slightly swollen. An apology was already on his lips when Jemma caught his wrist and drew him in. “‘M sorry, baby girl. I didna mean t’ do tha’,” he murmured, splaying his hands over Jemma’s belly and ribs as he wrapped his arms around her. 

The heat felt good, and even though they’d just woken up, made Fitz feel relaxed and a bit sleepy again. Having Jemma cradled against him probably wasn’t helping. He’d long since discovered that holding onto her was an effective panacea for almost any ill, and enough to take the edge off the worst of his nerves. Letting his eyes drift shut, Fitz let his hands drift idly over his girlfriend’s body, the hot water slicking his hands until they glided effortlessly over her skin.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, one of her hands coming up from where it’d been resting on his forearm to affectionately scratch through his curls. Fitz could always be counted on to look after her, something Jemma found absolutely charming, even if it was sometimes needless. Like now. Her boyfriend seemed to have come to the idea that women always wanted to be treated tenderly, and while she was touched by his concern, she found herself wondering what she’d have to do to disabuse him of that particular notion. After all, timed correctly, a bit of the right kind of pain could be nice in the bedroom. 

The slide of his hands over the slick skin of her torso was soothing, even when they inched lower to her hips. Turning to face him, Jemma wound her arms around Fitz’ neck, pressing their chests firmly together as she nuzzled in against his neck. “I mean it, Fitz,” she murmured, lips brushing against his skin. “I don’t mind. It felt good when you did it, and it’s not a big hurt. It’ll be fine by the time we’re ready for lunch.” She drew back to smile at him, fingers stroking small, lazy circles against his lower back.

Fitz frowned and shook his head. “No, I know y’ didna mind jus’ then, but… I dinna like tha’ I marked y’ like tha’. I should have been more careful, is all.” As always though, it was difficult to stay upset when he had Jemma focused on distracting him from his circling thoughts with affection. Huffing out a breath, Fitz tipped his head to rest against hers and slipped his hands down over Jemma’s back. 

After a few gentle strokes up and down her spine, he playfully palmed her arse, trying to distract them both from his particular worries. Fitz wondered what Dr. Thornton would have to say about the latest developments between him and Jemma. She’d gone on sabbatical over the holidays and he wouldn’t see her again until after New Year’s. Given her initial disapproval of his crush on Jemma and her reticence in expressing an opinion about it during their phone conversations during his time in Germany, Fitz wasn’t sure. Still, he rather thought his therapist only put up the objections to make him think, not that she actively thought Jemma was bad for him. 

Returning his attention to Jemma, Fitz used his grip on her to tug her closer, backing himself against the shower wall and leaning there, taking on a bit of Jemma’s weight when she tipped against him. 

She just managed to stifle a soft giggle against his chest when Fitz dropped his hands to her arse, and readily followed when he tugged her against him. With her arms still draped loosely around his waist, Jemma found her eyes slipping shut, her cheek resting against his shoulder as they stood there, lulled by the heat of the water beating down around them. It was only when she began to worry that they would fall asleep there that Jemma drew away from him, and catching his hands with hers, drew her back under the running water with her. 

“C’mere.” She gave Fitz a soft, affectionate grin when he grumbled in protest. “The faster we clean up, the sooner we get back to cuddling.” 

Fitz let Jemma nudge him under the shower spray, disappointed that she wasn’t letting him be quite as tactile and affectionate as he wanted to be. Something about the sweetness they’d shared that morning had him wanting to stick even closer to her than usual. Even after the shower and making breakfast together, when Jemma curled up on the couch with a book Fitz collected his laptop and trailed along after her. 

He stretched himself out along the length of one side of the couch, his head resting against Jemma’s thigh. Grinning when her fingers delved into his hair, Fitz made himself comfortable there while he puttered on the computer. It was nice, he thought to himself, having Jemma around all the time. She’d questioned his certainty back when he offered to let her move in, and he was pleased that it had been such a seamless transition. Especially now with moving into the house - Fitz had neatly avoided any potential argument of where to put things or not having enough space between them. 

Lost in his thoughts and idly browsing the internet, Fitz missed when Jemma broke the quiet to say something and blinked up at her. “Wha’, lass? I missed tha’.” 

She’d stopped reading a long while ago, forgoing the murder mystery she’d plucked off one of the bookshelves in favor of just watching Fitz. It simply amazed her just how far they’d come, from being thrown together in a hospital room for a few hours to living together, and Jemma was still feeling as though she were floating through everything as a result. It all made her seriously reconsider her career options, and as they sat there, she found herself wondering if she could find a way to work from home with her medical degree. Certainly the promise of getting to curl up with Fitz after she was done with her work would do wonders for her productivity. 

Jemma grinned as he glanced up at her, batting those ridiculously long lashes of his, and scratched her nails against his scalp. “I was just saying how nice this is. Makes me glad I’ll be on a regular work schedule soon. We can do this more often without me ruining both our sleep schedules.”

“Jus’ my luck, you’ll get your schedule sorted an’ mine will go crazy, wha’ever I end up doin’,” Fitz joked, although he didn’t quite make it there. It was his sort of luck, and he’d be miserable. He was getting spoiled, honestly, spending so much time with her because of his break from the sustainable fuel project. He’d been doing research on future projects and other ideas, making drawings of things, along with the work he’d been doing on the house, but the majority of Fitz’ attention had been reserved for Jemma. 

“Y’ havena ruined my sleep schedule,” Fitz denied. “Is no’ like I have t’ sleep a’ the usual hours right now, since I’m no’ workin’. I dinna mind stayin’ up with y’ and y’ know it.” He tipped his head up further into Jemma’s touch, his eyes fluttering shut with a happy little noise from her attention. “Besides, if I havena gotten sick of y’ by now, I dinna think I ever will.” Fitz had discovered while he was in Germany that not only had he grown accustomed to Jemma’s presence, but he actively wanted someone - her - around all the time. 

“You were very patient with my schedule,” she conceded, gently lifting his head so she could slide out from beneath him. Fitz tossed her a puzzled look, which she quickly quelled by stretching out next to him. Thankfully, they were both slight enough that it could be managed without much trouble, but Jemma still took advantage of the situation. She slipped her leg over his and nestled her arm across his chest, snuggling in closer. “I think I could learn to be patient with yours, too, should the need arise.”

Fitz stilled once he figured out what Jemma was up to, lifting his arm out of her way and draping it over her shoulder once she’d gotten settled. It made him feel better about being so clingy earlier, knowing she wanted to stay close to him, too. “Probably,” he agreed, “But honestly, I hope y’ willna have t’. I know I’ll probably have y’ go back t’ Germany for a bit, maybe more than once, bu’ besides tha’, I should be here most o’ the time. Until I figure out what t’ do next. I havena heard back from Imperial College abou’ continuin’ t’ use their labs.” 

Jemma had known, logically speaking, that his work in Germany wasn’t complete. After all, when it came to mechanical components, conventional wisdom generally stated that whatever could go wrong eventually would; naturally, they’d want the man who designed the bloody things there to make sure they behaved properly. Still, that didn’t mean Jemma had to be happy to hear the news, and she couldn’t help but pout up at him a bit as his words sank in. 

“I’ve gotten spoiled. I’m too used to sharing a bed with you now. The bed will probably always feel cold without you in it.” She sighed and flashed him a quick smile so Fitz would know she wasn’t really upset. “I suppose that just means I’ll have to arrange a proper holiday to visit you, instead of just showing up at the airfield on a whim.” 

She might have tried to play off her comment, but Fitz hated knowing Jemma felt that way. “Jem…” he muttered, twisting up onto his side to face her. “It’ll probably only be for a couple o’ weeks at a time. I’ll be gone an’ back before y’ know it.” He knew for certain he’d mentioned future trips were probable, but it seemed Jemma had either forgotten or denied that he might have to leave again in the near future. 

“An’ we should be on a similar schedule,” he pointed out. “So if y’ want t’ come an’ stay with me on the weekend, you’re more than welcome. Y’ know I’ve no problem with y’ invadin’ my space.” Fitz was still amazed he’d taken to her presence in his flat so easily. There might be times in the future when Fitz wanted time to himself, or just quiet in general, but he was fairly certain they’d work that out just fine when the time came. 

Fitz’ reminder that they could spend weekends together at least when he had to go abroad once more cheered her. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten entirely that he would likely have to go again, but rather that Jemma had allowed herself to sink into the idea that home was where he was. Even though she knew he’d always come back, their house would feel a little less home-like while he was gone. 

Jemma pressed her palm flat against Fitz’ chest, turning so she was lying half over him so she could look him in the eye fully. “I like that idea. We could even take trips to other places, if we wanted.” Between the trains and car rentals, it was entirely conceivable that they could check a few places off their wish list if they wanted. And she couldn’t imagine a better person than Fitz to do that with. “Although… before Germany comes calling again, I’d like to at least be mostly moved into the house. I can try to get everything set up while you’re gone that way.”

“I canna imagine it will be before mid-January, a’ the earliest,” Fitz said with a quick shake of his head. “They’ve got all the designs an’ the test engines, but they have t’ put the first prototype together from the ground up. Even if they have trouble at that point, they’re no’ goin’ t’ start until the week after New Years’.” 

The last thing he wanted was to have to go haring off to Germany again while Jemma was trying to put their home into order. He wanted to have input into where things went. Plus, it simply wasn’t fair to make Jemma do all that work on her own, on top of working all day. “We can have everythin’ moved and settled pretty easily, I think. Move the couch first an’ the bed last, so we’ve always go’ somewhere t’ sleep… The rest of it can go in whatever order we want,” he mused, thinking logically through the plan. 

“Man with a plan,” Jemma teased, leaning up to kiss him before settling back against his chest. “I like it. I think you’re right; we can manage that probably before the New Year, if we organize everything properly.” Fitz pouted at her, drawing a laugh from her. She couldn’t imagine he liked the idea of her going into her hyper-organized mode in order to move, but he could deal. She’d try not to go too overboard, anyway. 

“Relax, love. I’ll give you the rest of today off at least.”

~*~

Sure enough, Jemma had been right. It took a day for them to go through the house and decide what they wanted where, and another to pack their things into boxes and bags. After that was settled, they began moving the furniture piece by piece, and she deferred to Fitz’ judgment as to what should be moved and how. As with everything else, they worked well together, and just before New Year’s Eve, everything was moved from the cottage to the main house. There were still boxes that needed to be unpacked, but for the most part, they were well settled in. 

They agreed to put unpacking on hold for the New Year, not wanting to start their first full year together waist deep in cardboard boxes, which is how Jemma found herself running back and forth between rooms, searching for the dress and heels she’d been hoping the wear for their evening out. Dodging an errant box of knickknacks and books meant for their bedroom, Jemma secured her last earring, stepped into her heels, and hurried down the stairs. “Fitz!” she called, wondering where he could have gotten to, “I’m nearly ready! How are we getting there?” 

Fitz had let Jemma have the upstairs bathroom, since it was closer to their bedroom and her closet, while he took his clothes downstairs to the other loo to deal with getting himself ready. It was New Year’s Eve, Anthony had gotten them both tickets to the celebration at Heaven, and he was heading out to what used to be his favored Friday night pickup spot with Jemma on his arm. 

He’d only gone out twice since coming back from Germany, and it felt different, getting ready, knowing Jemma was upstairs putting on something that would likely have his fingers itching to touch her all bloody night. And that he’d be out in the club without having to put on his old persona to survive a few hours surrounded by strangers. With Jemma at his side, Fitz could take on the world knowing he had one person who would always support him. 

This party wasn’t exactly formal, and Fitz had never been one for fashion, but Jemma had made him buy those tailored suits to take to Germany. He wasn’t above using them to his advantage. Combining the dress pants with a fitted button-down, pushing the sleeves up and adding a matching vest and tie left him feeling a bit uncertain. Was it too much? He’d let Jemma critique it when she got downstairs. 

Just finishing up with his hair when he heard Jemma clattering down the stairs, he poked his head out to see her rushing around. “Jem, relax. The party will go on until 3am. As long as we’re there by midnight, I dinna care.” It was only just after 10, and it wouldn’t take more than a half hour to get downtown. “Besides,” he grinned and crooked his finger at her. “I need time t’ properly appreciate y’ in that dress.” 

His look was infectious and Jemma found her own mouth split open in a wide smile as she stepped toward him. And, if she put an extra little swing in her hips as she did so, well, she wasn’t exactly sorry. She liked knowing Fitz found her attractive, liked purposely dressing up with him in mind, and it couldn’t exactly be called a tease if she planned on following through later, could it? 

Once she was close enough, she reached out to run her fingers along his tie, adjusting it slightly before allowing her hand to trail further down his chest. Fitz had dressed to impress as well, although she wasn’t certain he knew what seeing him in a fitted vest did to her heart rate. It accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and the slimness of his hips rather perfectly, and if they hadn’t promised Anthony they’d meet him at Heaven, Jemma would have been sorely tempted to just strip him down then and there. She refrained, though, settling for wrapping her arms around him and stepping into him fully. 

“I’m glad you like it,” she murmured, brushing her nose against his jaw. She caught sight of them in the hall mirror, and had a fleeting thought that the chances were good that they’d be the best looking couple in the club, her bias be damned. She could hear Fitz’ heartbeat, and noticing that it had picked up more than usual, couldn’t resist teasing him further. “But really, you should see what’s under it.”

Fitz groaned at Jemma’s teasing tone, knowing from Christmas and that aborted evening in Germany just how amazing his girlfriend looked in lingerie. “Chris’, lass, tha’s no’ even fair,” he muttered, tugging her close. The last week of moving their things had been punctuated several times by breaks when they simply couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Fitz had a lot of time to make up for and a lot of things to learn and happily Jemma was more than willing to let him experiment - and wanted him too, given she’d initiated her own share of distractions. 

The last thing he needed at the moment was to get off track again and miss the party entirely. Fitz wanted to go out and show her off and celebrate his good fortune. It wasn’t that often he was in this sort of mood, happy and willingly going out to be social without the impetus of trying to fit in. Or get laid. He had both of those things at home. 

His fingers traced the line of the gold dress where it dipped low over the modest curve of Jemma’s breasts and Fitz sighed softly. Not that he was upset by any means, only trying to keep his libido under control. “We should go before I decide t’ get impatient an’ look now.” 

Jemma gave him a kind, sympathetic smile even as she shivered at the sensation of his fingertips ghosting over her skin. Even that small, rather innocent touch had her interest piqued. She hadn’t truly realized just how voracious both their appetites would be, and just the idea of how they wanted each other sent a warm tingle down her spine. Still, she knew that they’d both been looking forward to going out, and she knew Anthony would tease Fitz mercilessly if they failed to show up after they’d asked him to secure their tickets. 

Bringing one hand up to curl around his where it rested just above her heart, and leaned her forehead against his. “I promise, Leo, you can look your fill when we come home. And then some.” Jemma gave him a quick wink before she turned away, towing him after her with their still-linked hands toward the door. 

Once they were outside, Fitz hurried Jemma along to the tube station. It was cold, thankfully not icy, but that still didn’t mean he was happy about her being out in the weather with bare legs and mostly bare feet. Still, he knew better than to argue with a woman intent on looking her best for a party. Even his limited knowledge of women - mostly gleaned from pop culture - had taught him that. 

It took a half hour to get down to Bank and then over to the club, and Fitz was pleased when he was recognized and waved up to the front of the line. The club was already crowded and Fitz latched onto Jemma’s hand once they checked their coats. “Wow, this place is a madhouse,” he commented into her ear. He’d come out last year for New Years’, but he’d gone to one of the smaller clubs. Heaven, one of the most popular clubs in the city, was an entirely different animal. Sidling around to the far end of the bar, he tucked Jemma in between himself and the rail while he waited to catch the bartender’s attention. 

Without thinking of it, Jemma leaned back against Fitz, her fingers curling around his wrist where it rested on the bar. It had less to do with fearing she’d lose him - after her earlier tease, she had a feeling he’d be sticking close all night - but rather the sheer pleasure of being able to touch him. Eventually, the bartender noticed them, giving Fitz a familiar smile, although he didn’t quite manage to hide the surprise in his eyes when he saw who her boyfriend was pressed up against. He recovered quickly, though, and Jemma gave him a bright smile as she placed their order and Fitz handed over his card. 

Tab open and drinks before them, she turned in place to hand Fitz his scotch while she lifted her vodka tonic. “Cheers, Fitz!” Jemma had to lean in and speak directly into his ear to be heard over the thumping of the club’s sound system. “Happy New Year! Here’s to us!”

Fitz shivered at the warm brush of Jemma’s breath against his ear, but turned to grin at her and lean in for a kiss. “Here’s t’ us,” he agreed, raising his glass to clink gently against hers. More so than any other year of his life, this one felt like he was truly marking the end of something and the beginning of another. Back at the end of summer, he’d agreed to try to make a go of it with Jemma, but it hadn’t been until the last few weeks that Fitz had really come to feel like it was going to work. 

Of course, Germany had probably been the biggest cause for the delay, but Fitz wasn’t sure he still wouldn’t have wanted to wait longer for things if he’d stayed in London. It just would have been more difficult to keep that resolution, with Jemma so close by. Even so, things were just different now. They’d both settled nerves, reassured their easy companionship hadn’t been damaged by living together. Or finally having sex. If anything, Fitz was that much surer of himself now, knowing he wasn’t broken. That he could love and care for Jemma without cringing away from the potential hurt. 

He shifted a few steps away from the bar, realizing they were being rude and blocking the rail, drawing Jemma aside. “What do y’ think, lass? Finish these off an’ go dance?” Fitz suggested, speaking into Jemma’s ear much as she’d done to him. The heavy bass of the music precluded any sort of normal conversation. 

Opting to nod instead of actually speak, Jemma lifted her glass to her lips and took a long pull. The alcohol burned as it trailed down her throat, although it wasn’t entirely unpleasant as it finished chasing the chill from her arms and legs. She glanced over to see Fitz working on his own glass, and with another smile and a quick backwards tip of her head, Jemma’s tumbler was empty. She waited until Fitz had emptied his as well, took just enough time to pluck the glass from his hands to set both on the bar and then reached for his hand. 

Tugging him along, fingers laced tightly together so they wouldn’t lose each other in the crush of holiday revelers, Jemma pushed forward. By some miracle, she found just enough space for the two of them on the dance floor, and pulled Fitz in close behind her. She was somewhat surprised to find that she was feeling oddly possessive, and wanted to lay her claim to him, in some way, shape or form. Wrapping his arms around her waist, she found the rhythm and began to move along with it, keeping herself pressed close to Fitz all the while.

Fitz took a moment to fall into motion with her, surprised and pleased. Whenever he’d brought Jemma out with him before, she’d needed a bit more time to loosen up enough to dance with him. They were so attuned to each other these days though, that he went along with her almost seamlessly. 

The expectant air of the crowd was infectious as the minutes ticked by, the big digital clock on the wall moving closer and closer to midnight. At one point, Fitz tipped his head to nuzzle against Jemma’s neck, hardly paying any attention to the other people moving around them. His fingers found her hips, urging Jemma to turn around. “C’mere, lass,” he said into her ear. It was almost midnight, and for the first time he had someone he loved with him to be part of the traditional New Year’s kiss. 

Jemma turned easily, happy to do as Fitz bid, and brought her arms up to loosely drape about his neck. They were surrounded by other people, couples and singles alike, but all she could see was Fitz, and the soft, loving way he was looking at her. It made her heart flutter, and she reflexively smiled at him, her nose brushing against his. She was dimly aware that the countdown had begun, that excited revelers around them were shouting out each passing second, but Jemma paid them no mind. 

It had taken more than a year to get to where they were. It hadn’t been easy, but she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she wouldn’t give up a moment of the time she’d spent with Fitz for anything in the world. Jemma had never felt more loved or better adored in her life, and as the crowd around them began to raise a shout of glad tidings for the New Year, she merely pushed up onto her toes, whispered, “I love you,” and claimed her midnight kiss. 

Just as heedless of the cheering throng of partiers, Fitz kissed her until they were both breathless, but only drew back far enough to set his forehead against Jemma’s. “Love you, too, lass. Happy New Year,” he said, the words almost lost in all the uproar. 

They may as well have been in a world all their own, but in a way Fitz felt like that was nothing new. Or even unexpected. Ever since he’d met her, their friendship seemed to have developed outside of their everyday lives, or perhaps in spite of their lives. Certainly from the outside, anyone would have thought a friendship, much less a relationship, would never work. It seemed appropriate that in this moment, too, they were alone in their own little world, the moment not shared with anyone else. 

To think that if someone hadn’t spiked his drink that night last fall, sending him to A&E, that he’d never have met Jemma or ended up here… Perhaps something else might have happened and changed his life in a different way, but of course it was impossible to know. Fitz couldn’t imagine what else could have happened that would have ended with him being this happy, but really it didn’t matter. That door, whatever it had been, for better or worse, was closed… and this one was here, standing wide open before him.


End file.
